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OUT-DOOR  PAPERS 


BY 

THOMAS  WENTWORTH   HIGGINSON 

AUTHOR  OF  "ATLANTIC  ESSAYS,"  "YOUNG  FOLKS'   BOOK  OF  AMERICAN 

EXPLORERS,"  "HINTS  ON  WRITING  AND  SPEECHMAKING," 

"STUDIES  OF  AMERICAN  AUTHORS,"  ETC.,  ETC. 


NEW    YORK 

LONGMANS,  GREEN,  AND   CO. 
1894 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1868,  by 

TICKNOR     AND     FIELDS, 
to  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of 


PRESSWORK  BY  JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON, 
UNIVERSITY  PRESS. 


CONTENTS. 


PACK 

SAINTS,  AND  THEIR  BODIES     .       .       .       .        .        .  i 

PHYSICAL  COURAGE .  31- 

A  LETTER  TO  A  DYSPEPTIC     ...'...  53 

THE  MURDER  OF  THE  INNOCENTS       .       .       .       .  'yjf' 

BARBARISM  AND  CIVILIZATION 105 

GYMNASTICS 131 

A  NEW  COUNTERBLAST 177 

THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR  GIRLS       .        .       .       .        .  199 

APRIL  DAYS 223 

MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY 247 

WATER-LILIES .269 

THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS     .        .        .       .       .       .        .  293 

THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS                 .       .        .  317 

SNOW 339 


2136237 


SAINTS,   AND   THEIR    BODIES. 


SAINTS,  AND  THEIR  BODIES. 


EVER  since  the  time  of  that  dyspeptic  heathen, 
Plotinus,  the  saints  have  been  "  ashamed  of  their 
bodies."  What  is  worse,  they  have  usually  had  reason 
for  the  shame.  Of  the  four  famous  Latin  fathers,  Jerome 
describes  his  own  limbs  as  misshapen,  his  skin  as  squalid, 
his  bones  as  scarcely  holding  together;  while  Gregory 
the  Great  speaks  in  his  Epistles  of  his  own  large  size,  as 
contrasted  with  his  weakness  and  infirmities.  Three  of 
the  four  Greek  fathers  —  Chrysostom,  Basil,  and  Greg- 
ory Nazianzen  —  ruined  their  health  early,  and  were 
invalids  for  the  remainder  of  their  days.  Three  only  of 
the  whole  eight  were  able-bodied  men,  —  Ambrose,  Au- 
gustine, and  Athanasius  ;  and  the  permanent  influence  of 
these  three  has  been  far  greater,  for  good  or  for  evil, 
than  that  of  all  the  others  put  together. 

Robust  military  saints  there  have  doubtless  been  in  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church :  George,  Michael,  Sebastian, 
Eustace,  Martin,  Hubert  the  Hunter,  and  Christopher  the 
Christian  Hercules.  But  these  have  always  held  a  very 
secondary  place  in  canonization.  Maurice  and  his  whole 
Theban  legion  also  were  sainted  together,  to  the  number 
of  six  thousand,  six  hundred  and  sixty-six;  doubtless  they 
were  stalwart  men,  but  there  never  yet  has  been  a  chapel 


4  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIED 

erected  to  one  of  them.  The  mediaeval  type  of  sanctity 
was  a  strong  soul  in  a  weak  body ;  and  it  could  be  inten- 
sified either  by  strengthening  the  one  or  by  further  de- 
bilitating the  other.  The  glory  lay  in  contrast,  not  in 
combination.  Yet,  to  do  them  justice,  they  conceded  a 
strong  and  stately  beauty  to  their  female  saints,  —  Cath- 
erine, Agnes,  Agatha,  Barbara,  Cecilia,  and  the  rest.  It 
was  reserved  for  the  modern  Pre-Raphaelites  to  attempt 
the  combination  of  a  maximum  of  saintliness  with  a  min- 
imum of  pulmonary  and  digestive  capacity. 

But,  indeed,  from  that  day  to  this,  the  saints  by  spirit- 
ual laws  have  usually  been  sinners  against  physical  laws, 
and  the  artists  have  merely  followed  the  examples  they 
found.  Vasari  records,  that  Carotto's  masterpiece  of 
painting,  "  The  Three  Archangels,"  at  Verona,  was  criti- 
cised because  the  limbs  of  the  angels  were  too  slender, 
and  Carotto,  true  to  his  conventional  standard,  replied, 
"  Then  they  will  fly  the  better."  Saints  have  been  flying 
to  heaven,  for  the  same  reason,  ever  since,  —  and  have 
commonly  flown  young. 

Indeed,  the  earlier  some  such  saints  cast  off"  their  bodies 
the  better,  they  make  so  little  use  of  them.  Chittagutta, 
the  Buddhist  recluse,  dwelt  in  a  cave  in  Ceylon.  His 
devout  visitors  one  day  remarked  on  the  miraculous 
beauty  of  the  legendary  paintings,  representing  scenes 
from  the  life  of  Buddha,  which  adorned  the  walls.  The 
holy  man  informed  them  that,  during  his  sixty  years'  res- 
idence in  the  cave,  he  had  been  too  much  absorbed  in 
meditation  to  notice  the  existence  of  the  paintings,  but  he 
would  take  their  word  for  it.  And  in  this  non-intercourse 
with  the  visible  world  there  has  been  an  apostolical  suc- 
cession, extending  from  Chittagutta  down  to  the  Andover 
divinity-student  who  refused  to  join  his  companions  in 


SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  5 

their  admiring  gaze  on  that  wonderful  autumnal  landscape 
which  spreads  itself  before  the  Seminary  Hill  in  October, 
but  marched  back  into  the  library,  ejaculating,  "  Lord, 
turn  thou  mine  eyes  from  beholding  vanity ! " 

It  is  to  be  reluctantly  recorded,  in  fact,  that  the  Prot- 
estant saints  have  not  ordinarily  had  much  to  boast  of,  in 
physical  stamina,  as  compared  with  the  Roman  Catholic. 
They  have  not  got  far  beyond  Plotinus.  It  is  scarcely 
worth  while  to  quote  Calvin  on  this  point,  for  he,  33 
everybody  knows,  was  an  invalid  for  his  whole  lifetime. 
But  it  does  seem  hard  that  the  jovial  Luther,  in  the  midst 
of  his  ale  and  skittles,  should  have  deliberately  censured 
Juvenal's  mens  sana  in  corpora  scmo,  as  a  pagan  maxim  ! 

If  Saint  Luther  fails  us,  where  are  the  advocates  of 
the  body  to  look  for  comfort  ?  Nothing  this  side  of  an- 
cient Greece,  we  fear,  will  afford  adequate  examples  of 
the  union  of  saintly  souls  and  strong  bodies.  Pythagoras 
the  sage  may  or  may  not  have  been  identical  with  Py- 
thagoras the  inventor  of  pugilism,  and  he  was,  at  any  rate, 
(in  the  loving  words  of  Bentley,)  "  a  lusty  proper  man. 
and  built,  as  it  were,  to  make  a  good  boxer."  Cleanthes, 
whose  sublime  "  Prayer  "  is,  doubtless,  the  highest  strain 
left  of  early  piety,  was  a  boxer  likewise.  Plato  was  a 
famous  wrestler,  and  Socrates  was  unequalled  for  his  mil- 
itary endurance.  Nor  was  one  of  these,  like  their  puny 
follower  Plotinus,  too  weak-sighted  to  revise  his  own 
manuscripts. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  analyze  the  causes  of  this  modern 
deterioration  of  the  saints.  The  fact  is  clear.  There  is 
in  the  community  an  impression  that  physical  vigor  and 
spiritual  sanctity  are  incompatible.  Recent  ecclesiastical 
history  records  that  a  young  Orthodox  divine  lost  his 
parish  by  swimming  the  Merrimac  River,  and  that  an- 


6  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

other  was  compelled  to  ask  a  dismissal  in  consequence  of 
vanquishing  his  most  influential  parishioner  in  a  game  of 
ten-pins ;  it  seemed  to  the  beaten  party  very  unclericaL 
The  writer  further  remembers  a  match,  in  a  certain  sea- 
side bowling-alley,  in  which  two  brothers,  young  divines, 
took  part.  The  sides  being  made  up,  with  the  exception 
of  these  two  players,  it  was  necessary  to  find  places  for 
them  also.  The  head  of  one  bide  accordingly  picked  his 
man,  on  the  avowed  presumption  that  the  best  preacher 
would  naturally  be  the  worst  bowler.  The  athletic  capaci- 
ty, he  thought,  would  be  in  inverse  ratio  to  the  sanctity. 
It  is  a  satisfaction  to  add,  that  in  this  case  his  hopes  were 
signally  disappointed.  But  it  shows  which  way  the  pop- 
ular impression  lies. 

The  poets  have  probably  assisted  in  maintaining  the 
delusion.  How  many  cases  of  consumption  Wordsworth 
must  have  accelerated  by  his  assertion  that  "  the  good  die 
first"!  Happily  he  lived  to  disprove  his  own  maxim. 
Professor  Peirce  has  proved  by  statistics  that  the  best 
scholars  in  our  colleges  survive  the  rest ;  virtue,  like  in- 
tellect, doubtless  tends  to  longevity.  The  experience  of 
the  literary  class  shows  that  all  excess  is  destructive,  and 
that  we  need  the  harmonious  action  of  all  the  faculties. 
Of  the  brilliant  roll  of  the  u  young  men  of  1830,"  in 
Paris,  —  Balzac,  Soulie*,  De  Musset,  De  Bernard,  Sue, 
and  their  compeers,  —  it  is  said  that  nearly  every  one  has 
already  perished,  in  the  prune  of  life.  What  is  the  ex- 
planation? A  stern  one:  opium,  tobacco,  wine,  and 
licentiousness.  "  All  died  of  softening  of  the  brain  or 
spinal  marrow,  or  swelling  of  the  heart."  No  doubt  many 
of  the  noble  and  the  pure  were  dying  prematurely  at  the 
same  time ;  but  it  proceeded  from  the  same  essential 
cause :  physical  laws  disobeyed  and  bodies  exhausted 


SASVTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  7 

The  evil  is,  that  what  in  the  debauchee  is  condemned,  as 
suicide,  is  lauded  in  the  devotee,  as  saintship.  The  deli- 
rium tremens  of  the  drunkard  conveys  scarcely  a  sterner 
moral  lesson  than  the  second  childishness  of  the  pure  and 
abstemious  Southey. 

But,  happily,  times  change,  and  saints  with  them.  Our 
moral  conceptions  are  expanding  to  take  in  that  "  athletic 
virtue  "  of  the  Greeks,  apen)  yvpvacrriKT],  which  Dr.  Arnold, 
by  precept  and  practice,  defended.  The  modern  English 
"  Broad  Church "  aims  at  breadth  of  shoulders,  as  well 
as  of  doctrines.  Our  American  saintship,  also,  is  begin- 
ning to  have  a  body  to  it,  a  "  Body  of  Divinity,"  indeed. 
Look  at  our  three  great  popular  preachers.  The  vigor 
of  the  paternal  blacksmith  still  swings  the  sinewy  arm  of 
Beecher ;  Parker  performed  the  labors,  mental  and  phys- 
ical, of  four  able-bodied  men,  until  even  his  great  strength 
yielded  ;  and  if  ever  dyspepsia  attack  the  burly  frame  of 
Chapin,  we  fancy  that  dyspepsia  will  get  the  worst  of  it. 

This  is  as  it  should  be.  One  of  the  most  potent  causes 
of  the  ill-concealed  alienation  between  the  clergy  and  the 
people,  in  our  community,  is  the  supposed  deficiency,  on 
the  part  of  the  former,  of  a  vigorous,  manly  life.  There 
is  a  certain  moral  and  physical  anhcemia,  this  bloodless- 
ness,  which  separates  most  of  our  saints,  more  effectually 
than  a  cloister,  from  the  strong  life  of  the  age.  What 
satirists  upon  religion  are  those  parents  who  say  of  their 
pallid,  puny,  sedentary,  lifeless,  joyless  little  offspring, 
"  He  is  born  for  a  minister,"  while  the  ruddy,  the  brave, 
and  the  strong  are  as  promptly  assigned  to  a  secular  ca- 
reer !  Never  yet  did  an  ill-starred  young  saint  waste  his 
Saturday  afternoons  in  preaching  sermons  in  the  garret  to 
his  deluded  little  sisters  and  their  dolls,  without  living  to 
repent  it  in  maturity  These  precocious  little  sentimen- 


8  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

talists  wither  away  like  blanched  potato-plants  in  a  cellar; 
and  then  comes  some  vigorous  youth  from  his  out-dooi 
work  or  play,  and  grasps  the  rudder  of  the  age,  as  he 
grasped  the  oar,  the  bat,  or  the  plough. 

Everybody  admires  the  physical  training  of  military 
and  naval  schools.  But  these  same  persons  never  seem 
to  imagine  that  the  body  is  worth  cultivating  for  any  pur- 
pose, except  to  annihilate  the  bodies  of  others.  Yet  it 
needs  more  training  to  preserve  life  than  to  destroy  it. 
The  vernation  of  a  literary  man  is  far  more  perilous  than 
that  of  a  frontier  dragoon.  The  latter  dies,  at  most  but 
once,  by  an  Indian  bullet ;  the  former  dies  daily,  unless  he 
be  warned  in  time,  and  take  occasional  refuge  in  the  sad- 
dle and  the  prairie  with  the  dragoon.  What  battle-piece 
is  so  pathetic  as  Browning's  "  Grammarian's  Funeral "  ? 
Do  not  waste  your  gymnastics  on  the  West  Point  or 
Annapolis  student,  whose  whole  life  will  be  one  of  active 
exercise,  but  bring  them  into  the  professional  schools  and 
the  counting-rooms.  Whatever  may  be  the  exceptional 
cases,  the  stern  truth  remains,  that  the  great  deeds  of  the 
world  can  be  more  easily  done  by  illiterate  men  than  by 
sickly  ones.  Wisely  said  Horace  Mann,  "  All  through 
the  life  of  a  pure-minded  but  feeble-bodied  man,  his  path 
is  lined  with  memory's  gravestones,  which  mark  the  spots 
where  noble  enterprises  perished,  for  lack  of  physical 
vigor  to  embody  them  in  deeds."  And  yet  more  elo- 
quently it  has  been  said  by  a  younger  American  thinker, 
Wasson,  "  Intellect  in  a  weak  body  is  like  gold  in  a  spent 
swimmer's  pocket,  —  the  richer  he  would  be,  under  other 
circumstances,  by  so  much  the  greater  his  danger  now." 

Of  course,  the  mind  has  immense  control  over  physical 
endurance,  and  every  one  knows  that  among  soldiers,  sail- 
ors, emigrants,  and  woodsmen,  the  leaders,  though  more 


SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  9 

delicately  nurtured,  will  often  endure  hardship  better  than 
the  followers,  —  "  because,"  says  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  ''they 
are  supported  by  the  great  appetites  of  honor."  But  for 
all  these  triumphs  of  nervous  power  a  reaction  lies  in 
store,  as  in  the  case  of  the  superhuman  efforts  often  made 
by  delicate  women.  And  besides,  there  is  a  point  beyond 
which  no  mental  heroism  can  ignore  the  body,  —  as,  for 
instance,  in  sea-sickness  and  toothache.  Can  virtue  arrest 
consumption,  or  self-devotion  set  free  the  agonized  breath 
of  asthma,  or  heroic  energy  defy  paralysis  ?  More  for- 
midable still  are  those  subtle  influences  of  disease,  which 
cannot  be  resisted,  because  their  source  is  unseen.  Vol- 
taire declared  that  the  fate  of  a  nation  had  often  depended 
on  the  good  or  bad  digestion  of  a  prime-minister ;  and 
Motley  holds  that  the  gout  of  Charles  V.  changed  the 
destinies  of  the  world. 

But  part  of  the  religious  press  still  clings  to  the  objec- 
tion, that  admiration  of  physical  strength  belonged  to  the 
barbarous  ages  of  the  world.  So  it  certainly  did,  and  so 
the  race  was  kept  alive  through  those  ages.  They  had 
that  one  merit,  at  least ;  and  so  surely  as  an  exclusively 
intellectual  civilization  ignored  it,  the  arm  of  some  robust 
barbarian  prostrated  that  civilization  at  last.  What  Sis- 
mondi  says  of  courage  is  pre-eminently  true  of  that  bodily 
vigor  which  it  usually  presupposes :  it  is  by  no  means  the 
first  of  virtues,  but  its  loss  is  more  fatal  than  that  of  all 
others.  "  Were  it  possible  to  unite  the  advantages  of  a 
perfect  government  with  the  cowardice  of  a  whole  people, 
those  advantages  would  be  utterly  valueless,  since  they 
would  be  utterly  without  security." 

Physical  health  is  a  necessary  condition  of  all  perma- 
nent success.  To  the  American  people  it  has  a  stupen- 
dous importance,  because  it  is  the  only  attribute  of  power 
1* 


10  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

in  which  they  are  losing  ground.  Guarantee  us  against 
physical  degeneracy,  and  we  can  risk  all  other  perils,  — 
financial  crises,  Slavery,  Romanism,  Mormonism,  Border 
Ruffians,  and  New  York  assassins;  "domestic  malice, 
foreign  levy,  nothing  "  can  daunt  us.  Guarantee  to  Amer 
icans  health,  and  Mrs.  Stowe  cannot  frighten  them  with 
all  the  prophecies  of  Dred ;  but  when  her  sister  Catherine 
informs  us  that  in  all  the  vast  female  acquaintance  of  the 
Beecher  family  there  are  not  a  dozen  healthy  women, 
one  is  a  little  tempted  to  despair  of  the  republic. 

The  one  drawback  to  satisfaction  in  our  Public-School 
System  is  the  physical  weakness  which  it  reveals  and 
helps  to  perpetuate.  One  seldom  notices  a  ruddy  face  in 
the  school-room,  without  tracing  it  back  to  a  Transatlantic 
origin.  The  teacher  of  a  large  school  in  Canada  went  so 
far  as  to  declare  to  me,  that  she  could  recognize  the  chil- 
dren born  this  side  the  line  by  their  invariable  appear- 
ance of  ill-health  joined  with  intellectual  precocity,  — 
stamina  wanting,  and  the  place  supplied  by  equations. 
Look  at  a  class  of  boys  or  girls  in  our  Grammar  Schools ; 
a  glance  along  the  line  of  their  backs  affords  a  study  of 
geometrical  curves.  You  almost  long  to  reverse  the 
position  of  their  heads,  as  Dante  has  those  of  the  false 
prophets,  and  thus  improve  their  figures ;  the  rounded 
shoulders  affording  a  vigorous  chest,  and  the  hollow  chest 
an  excellent  back. 

There  are  statistics  to  show  that  the  average  length  of 
human  life  is  increasing ;  and  facts  to  indicate  a  develop- 
ment of  size  and  strength  with  advancing  civilization. 
Indeed,  it  is  generally  supposed  that  any  physical  deteri- 
oration is  local,  being  peculiar  to  the  United  States.  But 
the  "  Englishwoman's  Journal "  asserts  that  "  it  is  allowed 
by  all,  that  the  appearance  of  the  English  peasant,  in  the 


SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  U 

present  day,  is  very  different  to  [from]  what  it  was  fifty 
years  ago ;  the  robust,  healthy,  hard-looking  country- 
woman or  girl  is  as  rare  now  as  the  pale,  delicate,  nervous 
female  of  our  times  would  ha\e  been  a  century  ago." 
And  the  writer  proceeds  to  give  alarming  illustrations, 
based  upon  the  appearance  of  children  in  English  schools, 
both  in  city  and  country. 

We  cannot  speak  for  England,  but  certainly  no  one  can 
visit  Canada  without  being  struck  with  the  spectacle  of  a 
more  athletic  race  of  people  than  our  own.  One  sees  a 
large  proportion  of  rosy  female  faces  and  noble  manly 
figures.  In  the  shop-windows,  in  winter  weather,  hang 
snow-shoes,  "  gentlemen's  and  ladies'  sizes."  The  street- 
corners  inform  you  that  the  members  of  the  "  Curling 
Club"  are  to  meet  to-day  at  "  Dolly's,"  and  the  "  Montreal 
Fox-hounds"  at  St.  Lawrence  Hall  to-morrow.  And 
next  day  comes  off  the  annual  steeple-chase,  at  the  "Mile- 
End  Course,"  ridden  by  gentlemen  of  the  city  with  their 
own  horses  ;  a  scene,  by  the  way,  whose  exciting  interest 
can  scarcely  be  conceived  by  those  accustomed  only  to 
"  trials  of  speed  "  at  agricultural  exhibitions.  Everything 
indicates  out-door  habits  and  athletic  constitutions. 

All  this  may  be  met  by  the  alleged  distinction  between 
a  good  idle  constitution  and  a  good  working  constitution, 
—  since  the  latter  often  belongs  to  persons  who  make  no 
show  of  physical  powers.  But  this  only  means  that  there 
are  different  temperaments  and  types  of  physical  organ- 
ization, while,  within  the  limits  of  each,  the  distinction 
between  a  healthy  and  a  diseased  condition  still  holds  ; 
and  it  is  that  alone  which  is  essential. 

More  specious  is  the  claim  of  the  Fourth-of-July  ora- 
tors, that,  health  or  no  health,  it  is  the  sallow  Americans, 
and  not  the  robust  English,  who  are  really  leading  thp 


12  SAINTS    AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

world.  But  this,  again,  is  a  question  of  temperaments. 
The  Englishman  concedes  the  greater  intensity,  but  pre- 
fers a  more  solid  and  permanent  power.  He  justly  sets 
the  noble  masonry  and  vast  canals  of  Montreal,  against 
the  Aladdin's  palaces  of  Chicago.  "I  observe,"  admits 
the  Englishman,  "that  an  American  can  accomplish  more, 
at  a  single  effort,  than  any  other  man  on  earth  ;  but  I  also 
observe  that  he  exhausts  himself  in  the  achievement. 
Kane,  a  delicate  invalid,  astounds  the  world  by  his  two 
Arctic  winters,  —  and  then  dies  in  tropical  Cuba."  The 
solution  is  simple  ;  nervous  energy  is  grand,  and  so  is 
muscular  power ;  combine  the  two,  and  you  move  the 
world. 

One  may  assume  as  admitted,  therefore,  the  deficiency 
of  physical  health  in  America,  and  the  need  of  a  great 
amendment.  But  into  the  general  question  of  cause  and 
cure  it  is  not  here  needful  to  enter.  In  view  of  the  vast 
variety  of  special  theories,  and  the  inadequacy  of  any  one, 
(or  any  dozen,)  it  is  wiser  to  forbear.  Perhaps  the  best 
diagnosis  of  the  universal  American  disease  is  to  be  found 
in  Andral's  famous  description  of  the  cholera :  "  Anatomi- 
cal characteristics,  insufficient ;  —  cause,  mysterious  ;  — 
nature,  hypothetical ;  —  symptoms,  characteristic ;  —  diag- 
nosis, easy  ;  —  treatment,  very  doubtful." 

Every  man  must  have  his  hobby,  however,  and  it  is  a 
jpeat  deal  to  ride  only  one  hobby  at  a  time.  For  the 
present  the  writer  disavows  all  minor  ones.  He  forbears 
giving  his  pet  arguments  in  defence  of  animal  food,  and  in 
opposition  to  tobacco,  coffee,  and  india-rubbers.  He  will 
not  criticise  the  old-school  physician  whom  he  once  knew, 
who  boasted  of  not  having  performed  a  thorough  ablution 
for  twenty-five  years  ;  nor  will  he  question  the  physiolog- 
ical orthodoxy  of  Miss  Sedgwick's  New  England  artist, 


SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  13 

who  represented  the  Goddess  of  Health  with  a  pair  of 
flannel  drawers  on.  Still  less  is  it  needful  to  debate,  or 
to  taste,  Kennedy's  Medical  Discovery,  or  R  R.  R.,  or 
the  Cow  Pepsin. 

"  The  wise  for  cure  on  exercise  depend," 

saith  Dryden,  —  and  that  is  the  argument  now  in  ques- 
tion. 

A  great  physician  has  said,  "  I  know  not  which  is  most 
indispensable  for  the  support  of  the  frame,  —  food  or  ex- 
ercise." But  who,  in  this  community,  really  takes  exer- 
cise ?  Even  the  mechanic  commonly  confines  himself  to 
one  set  of  muscles ;  the  blacksmith  acquires  strength  in 
his  right  arm,  and  the  dancing-master  in  his  left  leg.  But 
the  professional  or  business  man,  what  muscles  has  he  at 
all  ?  The  tradition,  that  Phidippides  ran  from  Athens  to 
Sparta,  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles,  in  two  days,  seems 
to  us  Americans  as  mythical  as  the  Golden  Fleece.  Even 
to  ride  sixty  miles  in  a  day,  to  walk  thirty,  to  run  five,  or 
to  swim  one,  would  cost  most  men  among  us  a  fit  of  ill- 
ness, and  many  their  lives.  Let  any  man  test  his  physi- 
cal condition,  either,  if  he  likes  work,  by  sawing  his  own 
cord  of  wood,  or,  if  he  prefers  play,  by  an  hour  in  the  gym- 
nasium or  at  cricket,  and  his  enfeebled  muscular  appara- 
tus will  groan  with  rheumatism  for  a  week.  Or  let  him 
test  the  strength  of  his  arms  and  chest  by  raising  and  low- 
ering himself  a  few  times  upon  a  horizontal  bar,  or  hang- 
ing by  the  arms  to  a  rope,  and  he  will  probably  agree  with 
Galen  in  pronouncing  it  robustum  validumque  labor  em. 
Yet  so  manifestly  are  these  things  within  the  reach  of 
common  constitutions,  that  a  few  weeks  or  months  of  ju- 
dicious practice  will  renovate  his  whole  system,  and  the 
most  vigorous  exercise  will  refresh  him  like  a  cold  bath, 


14  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

To  a  well-regulated  frame,  mere  physical  exertion,  even 
for  an  uninteresting  object,  is  a  great  enjoyment,  which  is, 
of  course,  qualified  by  the  excitement  of  games  and  sports. 
To  almost  every  man  there  is  joy  in  the  memory  of  these 
things ;  they  are  the  happiest  associations  of  his  boyhood. 
It  does  not  occur  to  him,  that  he  also  might  be  as  happy 
as  a  child,  if  he  lived  more  like  one.  What  do  most  men 
know  of  the  "  wild  joys  of  living,"  the  daily  zest  and  lux- 
ury of  out-door  existence,  in  which  every  healthy  boy  be- 
side them  revels  ?  —  skating,  while  the  orange  sky  of  sun- 
set dies  away  over  the  delicate  tracery  of  gray  branches, 
and  the  throbbing  feet  pause  in  their  tingling  motion,  and 
the  frosty  air  is  filled  with  the  shrill  sound  of  distant  steel, 
the  resounding  of  the  ice,  and  the  echoes  up  the  hillsides  ? 

—  sailing,  beating  up  against  a  stiff  breeze,  with  the  waves 
thumping  under  the  bow,  as  if  a  dozen  sea-gods  had  laid 
their  heads  together  to  resist  it?  —  climbing  tall  trees, 
where  the  higher  foliage,  closing  around,  cures  the  dizzi- 
ness which  began  below,  and  one  feels  as  if  he  had  left  a 
coward  beneath  and  found  a  hero  above?  —  the  joyous 
hour  of  crowded  life  in  football  or  cricket  ?  —  the  gallant 
glories  of  riding,  and  the  jubilee  of  swimming? 

The  charm  which  all  have  found  in  Tom  Brown's 
M  School  Days  at  Rugby "  lies  simply  in  this  healthy 
boy's-life  which  it  exhibits,  and  in  the  recognition  of 
physical  culture,  which  is  so  novel  to  Americans.  But 
efforts  after  the  same  thing  begin  to  creep  in  among  our- 
selves. A  few  Normal  Schools  have  gymnasiums  (rather 
neglected,  however)  ;  the  "  Mystic  Hall  Female  Semina- 
ry "  advertises  riding-horses ;  and  we  believe  the  new 
"  Concord  School "  recognizes  boating  as  an  incidental ; 

—  but  these  are  all  exceptional  cases,  and  far  between. 
Faint  and  shadowy  in  early   remembrance  are  certain 


&AINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  15 

ruined  structures  lingering  Stonehenge-like  on  the  Cam- 
bridge "  Delta,"  —  and  mysterious  pits  adjoining,  into 
which  Freshmen  were  decoyed  to  stumble,  and  of  which 
it  is  reported  that  vestiges  still  remain.  Tradition  spoke 
of  Dr.  Follen  and  German  gymnastics ;  but  the  benefi- 
cent exotic  was  transplanted  prematurely,  and  died.  The 
only  direct  encouragement  of  athletic  exercises  which 
stands  out  in  my  memory  of  academic  life  was  a  certain 
inestimable  shed  on  the  "  College  Wharf,"  which  was  for 
a  brief  season  the  paradise  of  swimmers,  and  which,  after 
having  been  deliberately  arranged  for  their  accommoda- 
tion, was  suddenly  removed,  the  next  season,  to  make 
room  for  coal-bins.  Manly  sports  were  not  positively 
discouraged  in  those  days,  —  but  that  was  all. 

Yet  earlier  reminiscences  of  the  same  beloved  Cam- 
bridge suggest  deeper  gratitude.  Thanks  to  thee,  Wil- 
liam Wells,  —  first  pioneer,  in  New  England,  of  true 
classical  learning,  —  last  wielder  of  the  old  English  birch, 
—  for  the  manly  British  sympathy  which  encouraged  to 
activity  the  bodies,  as  well  as  the  brains,  of  the  numerous 
band  of  boys  who  played  beneath  the  stately  elms  of  that 
pleasant  play-ground  !  Who  among  modern  pedagogues 
can  show  such  an  example  of  vigorous  pedestrianism  in 
his  youth  as  thou  in  thine  age  ?  and  who  now  grants  half- 
holidays,  unasked,  for  no  other  reason  than  that  the  skat- 
ing is  good  and  the  boys  must  use  it  while  it  lasts  ? 

It  is  safe  to  cling  still  to  the  belief,  that  the  Persian 
curriculum  of  studies  —  to  ride,  to  shoot,  and  to  speak  the 
truth  —  is  the  better  part  of  a  boy's  education.  As  the 
urchin  is  undoubtedly  physically  safer  for  havitg  learned 
to  turn  a  somerset  and  fire  a  gun,  perilous  though  these 
feats  appear  to  mothers,  —  so  his  soul  is  made  healthier, 
larger,  freer,  stronger,  by  hours  and  days  of  manly  exer- 


16  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

cise  and  copious  draughts  of  open  air,  at  whatever  risk  oi 
idle  habits  and  bad  companions.  Even  if  the  balance  is 
sometimes  lost,  and  play  prevails,  what  matter  ?  It  was 
a  pupil  of  William  Wells  who  wrote 

"  The  hours  the  idle  school-boy  squandered 
The  man  would  die  ere  he  *d  forget." 

Only  keep  in  a  boy  a  pure  and  generous  heart,  and, 
whether  he  work  or  play,  his  time  can  scarcely  be 
wasted.  Which  really  has  done  most  for  the  education 
of  Boston,  —  Dixwell  and  Sherwin,  or  Sheridan  and 
Braman  ? 

Should  it  prove,  however,  that  the  cultivation  of  active 
exercises  diminishes  the  proportion  of  time  given  by  chil- 
dren to  study,  it  is  only  an  added  advantage.  Every  year 
confirms  the  conviction,  that  our  schools,  public  and  pri- 
vate, systematically  overtask  the  brains  of  the  rising  gen- 
eration. We  all  complain  that  Young  America  grows  to 
mental  maturity  too  soon,  and  yet  we  all  contribute  our 
share  to  continue  the  evil.  It  is  but  a  few  weeks  since 
the  New  York  newspapers  were  shouting  the  praises  of  a 
girl's  school,  in  that  city,  where  the  appointed  hours  of 
study  amounted  to  nine  and  a  quarter  daily,  and  the  hours 
of  exercise  to  a  bare  unit.  Almost  all  the  Students'  Man- 
uals assume  that  American  students  need  stimulus  instead 
of  restraint,  and  urge  them  to  multiply  the  hours  of  study 
and  diminish  those  of  out-door  amusements  and  of  sleep, 
as  if  the  great  danger  did  not  lie  that  way  already.  When 
will  parents  and  teachers  learn  to  regard  mental  precocity 
as  a  disaster  to  be  shunned,  instead  of  a  glory  to  be  cov- 
eted ?  One  could  count  up  a  dozen  young  men  who  have 
graduated  at  Harvard  College,  during  the  last  twenty 
years,  with  high  honors,  before  the  age  of  eighteen  ;  and 


SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  17 

it  is  possible  that  nearly  every  one  of  them  has  lived  to 
regret  it.  "  Nature,"  says  Tissot,  in  his  Essay  on  the 
Health  of  Men  of  Letters,  "  is  unable  successfully  to  car- 
ry on  two  rapid  processes  at  the  same  time.  We  attempt 
a  prodigy,  and  the  result  is  a  fool."  There  was  a  child  in 
Languedoc  who  at  six  years  was  of  the  size  of  a  large 
man ;  of  course,  his  mind  was  a  vacuum.  On  the  other 
hand,  Jean  Philippe  Baratier  was  a  learned  man  in  his 
eighth  year,  and  died  of  apparent  old  age  at  twenty. 
Both  were  monstrosities,  and  a  healthy  childhood  would 
be  equidistant  from  either. 

One  invaluable  merit  of  out-door  sports  is  to  be  found 
in  this,  that  they  afford  the  best  cement  for  childish  friend- 
ship. Their  associations  outlive  all  others.  There  is 
many  a  man,  now  perchance  hard  and  worldly,  whom  one 
loves  to  pass  in  the  street  simply  because  in  meeting  him 
one  meets  spring  flowers  and  autumn  chestnuts,  skates 
and  cricket-balls,  cherry-birds  and  pickerel.  There  is  an 
indescribable  fascination  in  the  gradual  transference  of 
these  childish  companionships  into  maturer  relations.  It 
is  pleasant  to  encounter  in  the  contests  of  manhood  those 
whom  one  first  met  at  football,  and  to  follow  the  profound 
thoughts  of  those  who  always  dived  deeper,  even  in  the 
river,  than  one's  own  efforts  could  attain.  There  is  a 
certain  governor,  of  whom  I  personally  can  remember 
only  that  he  found  the  Fresh  Pond  heronry,  which  I 
vainly  sought ;  and  in  memory  the  august  sheriff  of  a 
neighboring  county  still  skates  in  victorious  pursuit  of  me, 
(fit  emblem  of  swift-footed  justice !)  on  the  black  ice  of 
the  same  lovely  lake.  My  imagination  crowns  the  Cam- 
bridge poet,  and  the  Cambridge  sculptor,  not  with  their 
later  laurels,  but  with  the  willows  out  of  which  they 
taught  me  to  carve  whistles,  shriller  than  any  trump  of 


18  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

feme,  in  the  happy  days  when  Mount  Auburn  was  Sweet 
Auburn  still. 

Luckily,  boy-nature  is  too  strong  for  theory.  And 
truth  demands  the  admission,  that  physical  education  is 
not  so  entirely  neglected  among  us  as  the  absence  of  pop- 
ular games  would  indicate.  It  is  very  possible  that  this 
last  fact  proceeds  partly  from  the  greater  freedom  of  field- 
sports  in  this  country.  There  are  few  New  England  boys 
who  do  not  become  familiar  with  the  rod  or  gun  in  child- 
hood. Perhaps,  in  the  mother  country,  the  monopoly  of 
land  interferes  with  this,  and  that  game  laws,  by  a  sort  of 
spontaneous  pun,  tend  to  introduce  games. 

Again,  the  practice  of  match-playing  is  opposed  to  our 
national  habits,  both  as  a  consumer  of  time,  and  as  par- 
taking too  much  of  gambling.  Still,  it  is  done  in  tbe  case 
of  "  firemen's  musters,"  which  are,  we  believe,  a  wholly 
indigenous  institution.  I  have  known  a  few  cases  where 
the  young  men  of  neighboring  country  parishes  have 
challenged  each  other  to  games  of  base-ball,  as  is  common 
hi  England ;  and  there  was  a  recent  match  at  football 
between  the  boys  of  the  Fall  River  and  the  New  Bed- 
ford High  Schools.  And  within  a  few  years  regattas 
and  cricket-matches  have  become  common  events.  Still, 
these  public  exhibitions  are  far  from  being  a  full  expo- 
nent of  the  athletic  habits  of  our  people  ;  and  there  is 
really  more  going  on  among  us  than  this  meagre  "  pen- 
tathlon" exhibits. 

Again,  a  foreigner  is  apt  to  infer,  from  the  more  desul- 
tory and  unsystematized  character  of  our  out-door  amuse- 
ments, that  we  are  less  addicted  to  them  than  we  really 
are.  But  this  belongs  to  the  habit  of  our  nation,  impa- 
tient, to  a  fault,  of  precedents  and  conventionalisms.  The 
English-born  Frank  Forrester  complains  of  the  total  in- 


SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  1<J 

difference  of  our  sportsmen  to  correct  phraseology.  We 
should  say,  he  urges,  "  for  large  flocks  of  wild  fowl,  — 
of  swans,  a  whiteness,  —  of  geese,  a  gaggle,  —  of  brent,  a 
gang,  —  of  duck,  a  team  or  a  plump,  —  of  widgeon,  a 
trip,  —  of  snipes,  a  wisp,  —  of  larks,  an  exaltation.  The 
young  of  grouse  are  cheepers,  —  of  quail,  squeakers,  —  of 
wild  duck,  flappers."  And  yet,  careless  of  these  proprie- 
ties, Young  America  goes  "  gunning "  to  good  purpose. 
So  with  all  games.  A  college  football-player  reads  with 
astonishment  Tom  Brown's  description  of  the  very  com- 
plicated performance  which  passes  under  that  name  at 
Rugby.  So  cricket,  is  simplified ;  it  is  hard  to  organize 
an  American  club  into  the  conventional  distribution  of 
point  and  cover-point,  long  slip  and  short  slip,  but  the 
players  persist  in  winning  the  game  by  novel  groupings 
and  daring  combinations.  This  constitutional  indepen- 
dence has  its  good  and  evil  results,  in  sports  as  elsewhere. 
It  is  this  which  has  created  the  American  breed  of  trot- 
ting horses,  and  which  won  the  Cowes  regatta  by  a  main- 
sail as  flat  as  a  board. 

But,  so  far  as  there  is  a  deficiency  in  these  respects 
among  us,  this  generation  must  not  shrink  from  the  re- 
sponsibility. It  is  unfair  to  charge  it  on  the  Puritans. 
They  are  not  even  answerable  for  Massachusetts ;  for 
there  is  no  doubt  that  athletic  exercises,  of  some  sort, 
were  far  more  generally  practised  in  this  community  be- 
fore the  Revolution  than  at  present.  A  state  of  almost 
constant  Indian  warfare  then  created  an  obvious  demand 
for  muscle  and  agility.  At  present  there  is  no  such  im- 
mediate necessity.  And  it  has  been  supposed  that  a  race 
of  shopkeepers,  brokers,  and  lawyers  could  live  without 
bodies.  Now  that  the  terrible  records  of  dyspepsia  and 
paralysis  are  disproving  this,  one  may  hope  for  a  reaction 


20  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

in  favor  of  bodily  exercises.  And  when  we  once  begin 
the  competition,  there  seems  no  reason  why  any  other 
nation  should  surpass  us.  The  wide  area  of  our  country, 
an  J  its  variety  of  surface  and  shore,  offer  a  corresponding 
range  of  physical  training.  Contrast  our  various  aquatic 
opportunities,  for  instance.  It  is  one  thing  to  steer  a 
pleasure-boat  with  a  rudder,  and  another  to  steer  a  dory 
with  an  oar ;  one  thing  to  paddle  a  birch-canoe,  and 
another  to  paddle  a  ducking-float ;  in  a  Charles  River 
club-boat,  the  post  of  honor  is  in  the  stern,  —  in  a  Penob- 
scot  bateau,  in  the  bow ;  and  each  of  these  experiences 
educates  a  different  set  of  muscles.  Add  to  this  the  con- 
stitutional American  receptiveness,  which  welcomes  new 
pursuits  without  distinction  of  origin,  —  unites  German 
gymnastics  with  English  sports  and  sparring,  and  takes 
the  red  Indians  for  instructors  in  paddling  and  running. 
With  these  various  aptitudes,  we  certainly  ought  to  be- 
come a  nation  of  athletes. 

Thus  it  is  that,  in  one  way  or  another,  American  school- 
boys obtain  active  exercise.  The  same  is  true,  in  a  very 
limited  degree,  even  of  girls.  They  are  occasionally,  in 
our  larger  cities,  sent  to  gymnasiums, — the  more  the 
better.  Dancing-schools  are  better  than  nothing,  though 
all  the  attendant  circumstances  are  usually  unfavorable. 
A  fashionable  young  lady  is  estimated  to  traverse  her 
three  hundred  miles  a  season  on  foot;  and  this  needs 
training.  But  out-door  exercise  for  girls  is  terribly  re- 
stricted, first  by  their  costume,  and  secondly  by  the  social 
proprieties.  All  young  female  animals  unquestionably 
require  as  much  motion  as  their  brothers,  and  naturally 
make  as  much  noise;  but  what  mother  would  not  be 
shocked,  in  the  case  of  her  girl  of  twelve,  by  one  tenth 
part  the  activity  and  uproar  which  are  recognized  as  be- 


SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  21 

ing  thii  breath  of  life  to  her  twin  brother  ?  Still,  there  is 
a  change  going  on,  which  is  tantamount  to  an  admission 
that  there  is  an  evil  to  be  remedied.  Twenty  years  ago, 
if  we  mistake  not,  it  was  by  no  means  considered  "  prop- 
er "  for  little  girls  to  play  with  their  hoops  and  balls  on 
Boston  Common ;  and  swimming  and  skating  have  hardly 
been  recognized  as  "lady -like"  for  half  that  period  of 
time. 

Still  it  is  beyond  question,  that  far  more  out-door  exer- 
cise is  habitually  taken  by  the  female  population  of  almost 
all  European  countries  than  by  our  own.  In  the  first 
place,  the  peasant  women  of  all  other  countries  (a  class 
non-existent  here)  are  trained  to  active  labor  from  child- 
hood ;  and  what  traveller  has  not  seen,  on  foreign  moun- 
tain-paths, long  rows  of  maidens  ascending  and  descending 
the  difficult  ways,  bearing  heavy  burdens  on  their  heads, 
and  winning  by  the  exercise  such  a  superb  symmetry  and 
grace  of  figure  as  were  a  new  wonder  of  the  world  to  Cis- 
atlantic eyes  ?  Among  the  higher  classes,  physical  exer- 
cises take  the  place  of  these  things.  Miss  Beecher  glow- 
ingly describes  a  Russian  female  seminary,  in  which  nine 
hundred  girls  of  the  noblest  families  were  being  trained 
by  Ling's  system  of  calisthenics,  and  her  informant  de- 
clared that  she  never  beheld  such  an  array  of  girlish 
health  and  beauty.  Englishwomen,  again,  have  horse- 
manship and  pedestrianism,  in  which  their  ordinary  feats 
appear  to  our  healthy  women  incredible.  Thus,  Mary 
Lamb  writes  to  Miss  Wordsworth,  (both  ladies  being  be- 
tween fifty  and  sixty,)  "  You  say  you  can  walk  fifteen 
miles  with  ease ;  that  is  exactly  my  stint,  and  more  fa- 
tigues me  "  ;  and  then  speaks  pityingly  of  a  delicate  lady 
who  could  accomplish  only  "  four  or  five  miles  every  third 
or  fourth  day,  keeping  very  quiet  between."  How  few 


22  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

American  ladies,  in  the  fulness  of  their  strength,  (if  female 
strength  among  us  has  any  fulness,)  can  surpass  this  Eng- 
lish invalid! 

But  even  among  American  men,  how  few  carry  athletio 
habits  into  manhood !  The  great  hindrance,  no  doubt,  is 
absorption  in  business;  and  we  observe  that  this  winter  j 
hard  times  and  consequent  leisure  have  given  a  great 
stimulus  to  out-door  sports.  But  in  most  places  there 
is  the  further  obstacle,  that  a  certain  stigma  of  boyishness 
goes  with  them.  So  early  does  this  begin,  that  the  writer 
remembers,  in  his  teens,  to  have  been  slightly  reproached 
with  juvenility,  for  still  clinging  to  foot-ball,  though  a 
Senior  Sophister.  Juvenility !  He  only  wishes  he  had 
the  opportunity  now.  Mature  men  are,  of  course,  in- 
tended to  take  not  only  as  much,  but  far  more  active  ex- 
ercise than  boys.  Some  physiologists  go  so  far  as  to  de- 
mand six  hours  of  out-door  life  daily  ;  and  it  is  absurd  to 
complain  that  we  have  not  the  healthy  animal  happiness 
of  children,  while  we  forswear  their  simple  sources  of 
pleasure. 

Most  of  the  exercise  habitually  taken  by  men  of  seden- 
tary pursuits  is  in  the  form  of  walking.  Its  merits  may  be 
easily  overrated.  "Walking  is  to  real  exercise  what  veg- 
etable food  is  to  animal ;  it  satisfies  the  appetite,  but  the 
nourishment  is  not  sufficiently  concentrated  to  be  invig- 
orating. It  takes  a  man  out-doors,  and  it  uses  his  mus- 
cles, and  therefore  of  course  it  is  good ;  but  it  is  not  the 
best  kind  of  good.  Walking,  for  walking's  sake,  becomes 
tedious.  We  must  not  ignore  the  play-impulse  in  human 
nature,  which,  according  to  Schiller,  is  the  foundation  of 
all  Art  In  female  boarding-schools,  teachers  uniformly 
testify  to  the  aversion  of  pupils  to  the  prescribed  walk. 
Give  them  a  sled,  or  a  pair  of  skates,  or  a  row-boat,  or 


SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  23 

put  them  on  horseback,  and  they  will  protract  the  period 
of  exercise  till  the  complaint  is  transferred  to  the  pre- 
ceptor. 

Gymnastic  exercises  have  two  disadvantages :  one,  in 
being  commonly  performed  under  cover  (though  this  may 
sometimes  prove  an  advantage  as  well)  ;  another,  in  re- 
quiring apparatus,  and  at  first  a  teacher.  Apart  frcra 
these,  perhaps  no  other  form  of  exercise  is  so  universally 
invigorating.  A  teacher  is  required,  less  for  the  sake  of 
stimulus  than  of  precaution.  The  tendency  is  almost  al- 
ways to  dare  too  much  ;  and  there  is  also  need  of  a  daily 
moderation  in  commencing  exercises  ;  for  the  wise  pupil 
will  always  prefer  to  supple  his  muscles  by  mild  exercises 
and  calisthenics,  before  proceeding  to  harsher  perform- 
ances on  the  bars  and  ladders.  With  this  precaution, 
strains  are  easily  avoided ;  even  with  this,  the  hand  will 
sometimes  blister  and  the  body  ache,  but  perseverance 
will  cure  the  one  and  Russia  Salve  the  other ;  and  the 
invigorated  life  in  every  limb  will  give  a  perpetual  charm 
to  those  seemingly  aimless  leaps  and  somersets.  The  feats 
once  learned,  a  private  gymnasium  can  easily  be  con- 
structed, of  the  simplest  apparatus,  and  so  daily  used ; 
though  nothing  can  wholly  supply  the  stimulus  afforded 
by  a  class  in  a  public  institution,  with  a  competent  teach- 
er. In  summer,  the  whole  thing  can  partially  be  dis- 
pensed with ;  but  it  is  hard  for  me  to  imagine  how  any 
person  gets  through  the  winter  happily  without  a  gymna- 
sium. 

For  the  favorite  in-door  exercise  of  dumb-bells  we  have 
little  to  say  ;  they  are  not  an  enlivening  performance,  nor 
do  they  task  a  variety  of  muscles,  —  while  they  are  apt 
to  strain  and  fatigue  them,  if  used  with  energy.  Far  bet- 
ter, for  n  solitary  exercise,  is  the  Indian  club,  a  lineal 


24  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

descendant  of  that  antique  one  in  whose  handle  rare  me- 
dicaments were  fabled  to  be  concealed.  The  modern  one 
is  simply  a  rounded  club,  weighing  from  four  pounds  up- 
wards, according  to  the  strength  of  the  pupil ;  grasping  a 
pair  of  these  by  the  handles,  he  learns  a  variety  of  exer- 
cises, having  always  before  him  the  feats  of  the  marvel- 
lous Mr.  Harrison,  whose  praise  is  in  the  "  Spirit  of  the 
Times,"  and  whose  portrait  adorns  the  back  of  Dr.  Trail's 
Gymnastics.  By  the  latest  bulletins,  that  gentleman 
measured  forty-two  and  a  half  inches  round  the  chest, 
and  employed  clubs  weighing  no  less  than  forty-seven 
pounds. 

It  may  seem  to  our  non-resistant  friends  to  be  going 
rather  far,  if  we  should  indulge  our  saints  in  taking  box- 
ing lessons  ;  yet  it  is  not  long  since  a  New  York  clergy- 
man saved  his  life  in  Broadway  by  the  judicious  admin- 
istration of  a  "  cross-counter  "  or  a  "  flying  crook,"  and  we 
have  not  heard  of  his  excommunication  from  the  Church 
Militant.  No  doubt,  a  laudable  aversion  prevails,  in  this 
country,  to  the  English  practices  of  pugilism  ;  yet  it  must 
be  remembered  that  sparring  is,  by  its  very  name,  a  "  sci- 
ence of  self-defence  " ;  and  if  a  gentleman  wishes  to  know 
how  to  hold  a  rude  antagonist  at  bay,  in  any  emergency, 
and  keep  out  of  an  undignified  scuffle,  the  means  are  most 
easily  afforded  him  by  the  art  which  Pythagoras  founded. 
Apart  from  this,  boxing  exercises  every  muscle  in  the 
body,  and  gives  a  wonderful  quickness  to  eye  and  hand. 
These  same  remarks  apply,  though  in  a  minor  degree,  to 
fencing  also. 

Billiards  is  a  graceful  game,  and  affords,  in  some  re- 
spects, admirable  training,  but  is  hardly  to  be  classed 
among  athletic  exercises.  Tenpins  afford,  perhaps,  the 
most  popular  form  of  exercise  among  us,  and  have  be- 


SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  25 

come  almost  a  national  game,  and  a  good  one,  too,  so  far 
as  it  goes.  The  English  game  of  bowls  is  less  entertain- 
ing, and  is,  indeed,  rather  a  sluggish  sport,  though  it  has 
the  merit  of  being  played  in  the  open  air.  The  severer 
British  sports,  as  tennis  and  rackets,  are  scarcely  more 
than  names  to  us  Americans,  though  both  ai  e  to  be  prac- 
tised in  New  York  city. 

Passing  now  to  out-door  exercises,  (and  no  one  should 
confine  himself  to  in-door  ones,)  one  must  hold  with  the 
Thalesian  school,  and  rank  water  first.  Vishnu  Sarma 
gives,  in  his  apologues,  the  characteristics  of  the  fit  place 
for  a  wise  man  to  live  in,  and  enumerates  among  its  ne- 
cessities first  "  a  Rajah  "  and  then  "  a  river."  Democrats 
can  dispense  with  the  first,  but  not  with  the  second.  A 
square  mile  even  of  pond  water  is  worth  a  year's  school- 
ing to  any  intelligent  boy.  A  boat  is  a  kingdom.  I  per- 
sonally own  one,  —  a  mere  flat-bottomed  "  float,"  with  a 
centre-board.  It  has  seen  service,  —  it  is  eight  years  old, 
—  has  spent  two  winters  under  the  ice,  and  been  fished  in 
by  boys  every  day  for  as  many  summers.  It  grew  at  last 
so  hopelessly  leaky,  that  even  the  boys  disdained  it.  It 
cost  seven  dollars  originally,  and  I  would  not  sell  it  to-day 
for  seventeen.  To  own  the  poorest  boat  is  better  than 
hiring  the  best.  It  is  a  link  to  Nature  ;  without  a  boat, 
one  is  so  much  the  less  a  man. 

Sailing  is  of  course  delicious  ;  it  is  as  good  as  flying  to 
steer  anything  with  wings  of  canvas,  whether  one  stand 
by  the  wheel  of  a  clipper-ship,  or  by  the  clumsy  stern-oar 
of  a  "  gundalow."  But  rowing  has  also  its  charms  ;  and 
the  Indian  noiselessness  of  the  paddle,  beneath  the' frin- 
ging branches  of  the  Assabeth  or  Artichoke,  puts  one  into 
Fairyland  at  once,  and  Hiawatha's  cheemaun  becomes  a 
possible  possession.  Rowing  is  peculiarly  graceful  and 


26  SATNTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

appropriate  as  a  feminine  exercise,  and  any  able-bodied 
girl  can  learn  to  handle  one  light  oar  at  the  first  lesson, 
and  two  at  the  second. 

Swimming  has  also  a  birdlike  charm  of  motion.  The 
novel  element,  the  free  action,  the  abated  drapery,  give  a 
sense  of  personal  contact  with  Nature  which  nothing  else 
so  fully  bestows.  No  later  triumph  of  existence  is  so 
fascinating,  perhaps,  as  that  in  which  the  boy  first  wins 
his  panting  way  across  the  deep  gulf  that  severs  one 
green  bank  from  another,  (ten  yards,  perhaps,)  and  feels 
himself  thenceforward  lord  of  the  watery  world.  The 
Athenian  phrase  for  a  man  who  knew  nothing  was,  that 
he  could  "  neither  read  nor  swim."  Yet  there  is  a  vast 
amount  of  this  ignorance  ;  the  majority  of  sailors,  it  is 
said,  cannot  swim  a  stroke ;  and  in  a  late  lake  disaster, 
many  able-bodied  men  perished  by  drowning,  in  calm 
water,  only  half  a  mile  from  shore.  At  our  watering- 
places  it  is  rare  to  see  a  swimmer  venture  out  more  than 
a  rod  or  two,  though  this  proceeds  partly  from  the  fear 
of  sharks,  —  as  if  sharks  of  the  dangerous  order  were  not 
far  more  afraid  of  the  rocks  than  the  swimmers  of  being 
eaten.  But  the  fact  of  the  timidity  is  unquestionable  ; 
and  I  was  told  by  a  certain  clerical  frequenter  of  a  water- 
ing-place, himself  an  athlete,  that  he  had  never  met  but 
two  companions  who  would  swim  boldly  out  with  him, 
both  being  ministers,  and  one  a  distinguished  Ex-Presi- 
dent of  Brown  University.  This  fact  must  certainly  be 
placed  to  the  credit  of  the  bodies  of  our  saints. 

But  there  is  no  space  to  descant  on  the  details  of  all 
active  exercises.  Riding  may  be  left  to  the  eulogies 
of  Mr.  N.  P.  Willis,  and  cricket  to  Mr.  Lillywhite's 
"  Guide."  It  is  pleasant,  however,  to  see  the  rapid  spread 
of  clubs  for  the  latter  game,  which  a  few  years  since  was 


SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  27 

practised  only  by  a  few  transplanted  Englishmen  and 
Scotchmen ;  and  it  is  pleasant  also  to  observe  the  twin 
growth  of  our  indigenous  American  game  of  base-ball, 
whose  briskness  and  unceasing  activity  are  perhaps  more 
congenial,  after  all,  to  our  national  character,  than  the 
comparative  deliberation,  of  cricket.  Football,  bating  its 
roughness,  is  the  most  glorious  of  all  sports  to  those  whose 
animal  life  is  sufficiently  vigorous  to  enjoy  it.  Skating  is 
just  at  present  the  fashion  for  ladies  as  well  as  gentlemen, 
and  needs  no  apostle ;  it  is  destined  to  become  a  perma- 
nent institution. 

A  word,  in  passing,  on  the  literature  of  athletic  exer 
eises  ;  it  is  too  scanty  to  detain  us  long.  Five  hundred 
books,  it  is  estimated,  have  been  written  on  the  digestive 
organs,  but  it  is  hard  to  find  half  a  dozen  worth  naming 
in  connection  with  the  muscular  powers.  The  common 
Physiologies  recommend  exercise  in  general  terms,  but 
seldom  venture  on  details  ;  unhappily,  they  are  written, 
for  the  most  part,  by  men  who  have  already  lost  their  own 
health,  and  are  therefore  useful  as  warnings  rather  than 
examples.  The  first  real  book  of  gymnastics  printed  in 
this  country,  so  far  as  we  know,  was  the  work  of  the 
veteran  Salzmann,  translated  and  published  in  Philadel- 
phia, in  1802,  and  sometimes  to  be  met  with  in  libraries, 
—  an  odd,  desultory  book,  with  many  good  reasonings 
«nd  suggestions,  and  quaint  pictures  of  youths  exercising 
in  the  old  German  costume.  Like  Dr.  Follen's  Cam- 
bridge gymnasium,  it  was  probably  transplanted  too 
early,  and  produced  no  effect.  Next  came,  in  1836,  the 
book  which  is  still,  after  twenty  years,  the  standard,  so 
far  as  it  goes,  —  Walker's  "  Manly  Exercises,"  —  a  thor- 
oughly English  book,  and  needing  better  adaptation  to 
our  habits,  but  full  of  manly  vigor,  and  containing  good 


28  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES. 

and  copious  directions  for  skating,  swimming,  boating,  and 
horsemanship.  The  only  later  general  treatise  worth 
naming  is  Dr.  Trail's  recently  published  "  Family  Gym- 
nasium," —  a  good  book,  yet  not  good  enough.  On  gym- 
nastics proper  it  contains  scarcely  anything;  and  the 
essays  on  rowing,  riding,  and  skating  are  so  meagre,  that 
they  might  almost  as  well  have  been  omitted,  though  that 
on  swimming  is  excellent.  The  main  body  of  the  book  is 
devoted  to  the  subject  of  calisthenics,  and  especially  to 
Ling's  system ;  all  this  is  valuable  for  its  novelty,  although 
it  is  hard  to  imagine  how  a  system  so  tediously  elaborate 
can  ever  be  made  very  useful  for  American  pupils.  Miss 
Beecher  has  an  excellent  essay  on  calisthenics,  with  very 
useful  figures,  at  the  end  of  her  "Physiology."  And 
on  proper  gymnastic  exercises  there  is  a  little  book 
so  full  and  admirable,  that  it  atones  for  the  defects  of 
all  the  others,  —  "  Paul  Preston's  Gymnastics,"  —  nom- 
inally a  child's  book,  but  so  spirited  and  graphic,  and 
entering  so  admirably  into  the  whole  extent  of  the  sub- 
ject, that  it  ought  to  be  reprinted  and  find  ten  thousand 
readers. 

These  remarks  have  been  purposely  confined  to  those 
physical  exercises  which  partake  most  of  the  character  of 
sports.  Field-sports  alone  have  been  omitted,  as  having 
been  so  often  discussed  by  abler  hands.  Mechanical  and 
horticultural  labors  lie  out  of  the  province  of  this  essay. 
So  do  those  of  the  artist  and  the  man  of  science.  The 
out-door  study  of  natural  history  alone  is  a  vast  field, 
even  yet  very  little  entered  upon.  In  how  many  Ameri- 
can towns  or  villages  are  to  be  found  local  collections  of 
natural  objects,  such  as  every  large  town  in  Europe 
affords,  and  without  which  the  foundations  of  thorough 
knowledge  cannot  be  laid  ?  There  are  scarcely  any.  One 


SAINTS,  AND   THEIR  BODIES.  29 

finds  innumerable  fragmentary  and  aimless  "  Museums," 
—  collections  of  South-Sea  shells  in  inland  villages,  and 
of  aboriginal  remains  in  seaport  towns,  —  mere  curiosity- 
shops,  which  no  man  confers  any  real  benefit  by  collect- 
ing ;  while  the  most  ignorant  person  may  be  a  true  bene- 
factor to  science  by  forming  a  cabinet,  however  scanty,  of 
the  animal  and  vegetable  productions  of  his  own  town- 
ship. Professor  Agassiz  has  often  publicly  lamented  this 
waste  of  energy,  and  all  may  do  their  share  to  remedy 
the  defect,  while  they  invigorate  their  bodies  by  the  exer- 
cise which  the  effort  will  give,  and  the  joyous  open-air 
life  into  which  it  will  take  them. 

For,  after  all,  the  secret  charm  of  all  these  sports  and 
studies  is  simply  this,  —  that  they  bring  us  into  more 
familiar  intercourse  with  Nature.  They  give  us  that 
vitam  sub  divo  in  which  the  Roman  exulted,  —  those  out- 
door days,  which,  say  the  Arabs,  are  not  to  be  reckoned 
in  the  length  of  life.  Nay,  to  a  true  lover  of  the  open 
air,  night  beneath  its  curtain  is  as  beautiful  a?  day.  The 
writer  has  personally  camped  out  under  a  variety  of  aus- 
pices, —  before  a  fire  of  pine  logs  in  the  forests  of  Maine, 
beside  a  blaze  of  faya-boughs  on  the  steep  side  of  a 
foreign  volcano,  and  beside  no  fire  at  all  (except  a  pos- 
sible one  of  Sharp's  rifles),  in  that  domestic  volcano, 
Kansas  ;  and  every  such  remembrance  is  worth  many 
nights  of  in-door  slumber.  There  is  never  a  week  in  the 
year,  nor  an  hour  of  day  or  night,  which  has  not,  in  the 
open  air,  its  own  special  interest.  One  need  not  say, 
with  Reade's  Australians,  that  the  only  use  of  a  house  is 
to  sleep  in  the  lee  of  it ;  but  they  might  do  worse.  As 
for  rain,  it  is  chiefly  formidable  in-doors.  Lord  Bacon 
used  to  ride  with  uncovered  head  in  a  shower,  and  loved 
"  to  feel  the  spirit  of  the  universe  upon  his  brow  " ;  and  I 


30  SAINTS,  AND   THEIR   BODIES. 

once  know  an  enthusiastic  hydropathic  physician  who 
loved  to  expose  himself  in  thunder-storms  at  midnight, 
without  a  shred  of  earthly  clothing  between  himself  and 
the  atmosphere.  Some  prudent  persons  may  possibly 
regard  this  as  being  rather  an  extreme,  while  yet  their 
own  extreme  of  avoidance  of  every  breath  from  heaven 
is  really  the  more  extravagantly  unreasonable  of  the  two. 
It  is  easy  for  the  sentimentalist  to  say,  "  But  if  the 
object  is,  after  all,  the  enjoyment  of  Nature,  why  not  go 
and  enjoy  her,  without  any  collateral  aim  ?  "  Because  it 
is  the  universal  experience  of  man,  that,  if  we  have  a 
collateral  aim,  we  enjoy  her  far  more.  He  knows  not 
the  beauty  of  the  universe,  who  has  not  learned  the  sub- 
tile mystery,  that  Nature  loves  to  work  on  us  by  indirec- 
tions. Astronomers  say,  that,  when  observing  with  the 
naked  eye,  you  see  a  star  less  clearly  by  looking  at  it, 
than  by  looking  at  the  next  one.  Margaret  Fuller's  fine 
saying  touches  the  same  point,  —  "Nature  will  not  be 
stared  at."  Go  out  merely  to  enjoy  her,  and  it  seems  a 
little  tame,  and  you  begin  to  suspect  yourself  of  affecta- 
tion. There  are  persons  who,  after  years  of  abstinence 
from  athletic  sports  or  the  pursuits  of  the  naturalist  or 
artist,  have  resumed  them,  simply  in  order  to  restore  to 
the  woods  and  the  sunsets  the  zest  of  the  old  fascina- 
tion. Go  out  under  pretence  of  shooting  on  the  marshes 
or  botanizing  in  the  forests  ;  study  entomology,  that  most 
fascinating,  most  neglected  of  all  the  branches  of  natural 
history ;  go  to  paint  a  red  maple-leaf  in  autumn,  or  watch 
a  pickerel-line  in  winter;  meet  Nature  on  the  cricket- 
ground  or  at  the  regatta ;  swim  with  her,  ride  with  her, 
run  with  her,  and  she  gladly  takes  you  back  once  more 
within  the  horizon  of  her  magic,  and  your  heart  of  man- 
hood is  born  again  into  more  than  the  fresh  happiness  of 
the  boy. 


PHYSICAL   COURAGE. 


PHYSICAL  COURAGE. 


THE  Romans  had  a  military  machine  called  a  balista, 
a  sort  of  vast  crossbow,  which  discharged  huge 
stones.  It  is  said,  that,  when  the  first  one  was  exhibited, 
an  athlete  exclaimed,  "  Farewell  henceforth  to  all  cour- 
age ! "  Montaigne  relates,  that  the  old  knights,  in  his 
youth,  were  accustomed  to  deplore  the  introduction  of 
fencing-schools,  from  a  similar  apprehension.  Pacific 
King  James  predicted,  but  with  rejoicing,  the  same  result 
from  iron  armor.  "  It  was  an  excellent  thing,"  he  said,  — 
"  one  could  get  no  harm  in  it,  nor  do  any."  And,  similar- 
ly, there  exists  an  opinion  now,  that  the  combined  powers 
of  gunpowder  and  peace  are  banishing  physical  courage, 
and  the  need  of  it,  from  the  world. 

Peace  is  good,  but  this  result  of  it  would  be  sad  indeed. 
Life  is  sweet,  but  it  would  not  be  sweet  enough  without 
the  occasional  relish  of  peril  and  the  luxury  of  daring 
deeds.  Amid  the  changes  of  time,  the  monotony  of 
events,  and  the  injustice  of  mankind,  there  is  always 
accessible  to  the  poorest  this  one  draught  of  enjoyment,  — 
danger.  "In  boyhood,"  said  the  Norwegian  enthusiast, 
Ole  Bull,  "  I  loved  to  be  far  out  on  the  ocean  in  my  little 
boat,  for  it  was  dangerous,  and  in  danger  one  draws  near 
to  God."  Perhaps  every  man  sometimes  feels  this  long- 


34  PHYSICAL   COURAGE. 

ing,  has  his  moment  of  ardor,  when  he  would  fain  leave 
politics  and  personalities,  even  endearments  and  successes, 
behind,  and  would  exchange  the  best  year  of  his  life  for 
one  hour  at  Balaklava  with  the  Six  Hundred.  It  is  the 
bounding  of  the  Berserker  blood  in  us, —  the  murmuring 
echo  of  the  old  death-song  of  Regnar  Lodbrog,  as  he  lay 
amid  vipers  in  his  dungeon :  — "  What  is  the  fate  of  a 
brave  man,  but  to  fall  amid  the  foremost  ?  He  who  is 
never  wounded  has  a  weary  lot." 

This  makes  the  fascination  of  war,  which  is  in  itself, 
of  course,  brutal  and  disgusting.  Dr.  Johnson  says,  truly, 
that  the  naval  and  military  professions  have  the  dignity 
of  danger,  since  mankind  reverence  those  who  have  over- 
come fear,  which  is  so  general  a  weakness.  The  error 
usually  lies  in  exaggerating  the  difference,  in  this  respect, 
between  war  and  peace.  Madame  de  SeVigne*  writes  to 
her  cousin,  Bussy-Rabutin,  after  a  campaign,  "  I  cannot 
understand  how  one  can  expose  himself  a  thousand  times, 
as  you  have  done,  and  not  be  killed  a  thousand  times 
also."  To  which  the  Count  answers,  that  she  overrates 
the  danger  ;  a  soldier  may  often  make  several  campaigns 
without  drawing  a  sword,  and  be  in  a  battle  without  see- 
ing an  enemy,  —  as,  for  example,  where  one  is  in  the 
second  line,  or  rear  guard,  and  the  first  line  decides  the 
contest  He  finally  quotes  Turenne,  and  Maurice,  Prince 
of  Orange,  to  the  same  effect,  that  a  military  life  is  less 
perilous  than  civilians  suppose. 

It  is,  therefore,  a  foolish  delusion  to  suppose,  that,  as 
tht,  world  grows  more  pacific,  the  demand  for  physical 
courage  passes  away.  It  is  only  that  its  applications 
become  nobler.  In  barbarous  ages,  men  fight  against 
men  and  animals,  and  need,  like  Achilles,  to  be  fed  on  the 
marrow  of  wild  beasts.  As  tune  elapses,  the  savage 


PHYSICAL   COURAGE.  35 

animals  are  extirpated,  the  savage  men  are  civilized ;  but 
Nature,  acting  through  science,  commerce,  society,  is  still 
creating  new  exigencies  of  peril,  and  evoking  new  types 
of  courage  io  meet  them.  Grace  Darling  at  her  oars, 
Kane  in  his  open  boat,  Stephenson  testing  his  safety-lamp 
in  the  terrible  pit,  —  what  were  the  trophies  of  Miltiades 
to  these  ?  And,  indeed,  setting  aside  these  sublimities  of 
purpose,  and  looking  simply  at  the  quantity  and  quality 
of  peril,  it  is  doubtful  whether  any  tale  of  the  sea-kings 
thrills  the  blood  more  worthily  than  the  plain  newspaper 
narrative  of  Captain  Thomas  Bailey,  in  the  Newburyport 
schooner  "  Atlas,"  beating  out  of  the  Gut  of  Canso,  in 
a  gale  of  wind,  with  his  crew  of  two  men  and  a  boy,  up 
to  their  waists  in  the  water. 

It  is  easy  to  test  the  matter.  Let  any  one,  who  believes 
that  the  day  of  daring  is  past,  beg  or  buy  a  ride  on  the 
locomotive  of  the  earliest  express-train,  some  cold  winter- 
morning.  One  wave  of  the  conductor's  hand,  and  the 
live  engine  springs  snorting  beneath  you,  as  no  Arab 
steed  ever  rushed  over  the  desert  It  is  not  like  being 
bound  to  an  arrow,  for  that  motion  would  be  smoother ; 
it  is  not  like  being  hurled  upon  an  ocean  crest,  for  that 
would  be  slower.  You  are  rushing  onward,  and  you  are 
powerless ;  that  is  all.  The  frosty  air  gives  such  a  brittle 
and  slippery  look  to  the  two  iron  lines  which  lie  between 
you  and  destruction,  that  you  appreciate  the  Mohammedan 
fable  of  the  Bridge  Herat,  thinner  than  a  hair,  sharper 
than  a  scimitar,  which  stretches  over  hell  and  leads  to 
paradise.  Nothing  has  passed  over  that  perilous  track 
for  many  hours  ;  the  cliffs  may  have  fallen  and  buried  it, 
the  frail  bridges  may  have  sunk  beneath  it,  or  diabolical 
malice  put  obstructions  on  it,  no  matter  how  trivial, 
equally  fatal  to  you  ;  each  curving  embankment  may  lidfi 


36  PHYSICAL   COURAGE. 

unknown  horrors,  from  which,  though  all  others  escape, 
you,  on  the  engine,  cannot ;  and  still  the  surging  loco- 
motive bounds  onward,  beneath  your  mad  career.  You 
draw  a  long  breath,  as  you  dismount  at  last,  a  hundred 
miles  away,  as  if  you  had  been  riding  with  Mazeppa  or 
Krunechilde,  and  yet  escaped  alive.  And  there,  by  your 
side,  stands  the  quiet,  grimy  engineer,  turning  already  to 
bis  tobacco  and  his  newspaper,  and  unconscious,  while  he 
reads  of  the  charge  at  Balaklava,  that  his  life  is  Bala- 
klava  every  day. 

Physical  courage  is  not,  therefore,  a  thing  to  be  so 
easily  set  aside.  Nor  is  it,  as  our  reformers  appear 
sometimes  to  assume,  a  mere  corollary  from  moral  cour- 
age, and,  ultimately,  to  be  merged  in  that.  Moral  cour- 
age is  rare  enough,  no  doubt,  —  probably  the  rarer  quality 
of  the  two,  as  it  is  the  nobler;  but  they  are  things  di- 
verse, and  not  necessarily  united.  There  have  been  men, 
and  still  are  such,  leaders  of  their  age  in  moral  courage, 
and  yet  physically  timid.  This  is  not  as  it  should  be. 
God  placed  man  at  the  head  of  the  visible  universe,  and 
if  he  is  to  be  thrown  from  his  control,  daunted  by  a  bul- 
let, or  a  wild  horse,  or  a  flash  of  lightning^  or  a  lee  shore, 
then  man  is  dishonored,  and  the  order  of  the  universe 
deranged.  No  matter  what  the  occasion  of  the  terror  is, 
a  mouse  or  a  martyrdom,  fear  dethrones  us.  "  He  that 
lives  in  fear  of  death,"  said  Caesar,  "  at  every  moment 
fe«;ls  its  tortures.  I  will  die  but  once." 

Having  claimed  thus  much,  it  may  still  be  readily  ad- 
mitted that  we  cannot  yet  estimate  the  precise  effect  upon 
physical  courage  of  a  state  of  permanent  national  peace, 
since  indeed  we  are  not  quite  within  sight  of  that  de- 
sirable consummation.  Meanwhile,  it  is  worth  while  to 
attempt  some  slight  sketch  and  classification  of  the  differ- 


PHYSICAL   COURAGE.  37 

ent  types  of  this  quality;  —  among  which  are  to  be 
enumerated  the  spontaneous  courage  of  the  blood,  —  the 
courage  of  habit  or  discipline,  —  magnetic  or  transmitted 
courage,  —  and  the  courage  inspired  by  self-devotion  or 
despair. 

There  is  a  certain  innate  fire  of  the  blood,  which  does 
not  dare  perils  for  the  sake  of  principle,  nor  grow  indif- 
ferent to  them  from  familiarity,  nor  confront  them  under 
support  of  a  stronger  will,  —  but  loves  them  for  their  own 
sake,  without  reference  to  any  ulterior  object.  There  is 
no  special  merit  in  it,  for  it  is  a  matter  of  temperament. 
Yet  it  often  conceals  itself  under  the  finer  names  of  self- 
devotion  and  high  purpose,  —  as  George  Borrow  con- 
vinced himself  that  he  was  actuated  by  evangelical  zeal 
to  spread  the  Bible  in  Spain,  though  one  sees,  through 
every  line  of  his  narrative,  that  it  was  chiefly  the  adven- 
ture which  allured  him,  and  that  he  would  as  willingly 
have  distributed  the  Koran  in  London,  had  it  been  equally 
contraband.  No  surplices,  no  libraries,  no  counting-house 
desks,  can  eradicate  this  natural  instinct.  Achilles,  dis- 
guised among  the  maidens,  was  detected  by  the  wily 
Ulysses,  because  he  chose  arms,  not  jewels,  from  the 
travelling  merchant's  stores.  In  the  most  placid  life,  a 
man  may  pant  for  danger ;  and  quiet,  unobtrusive  persons 
sometimes  confess  that  they  never  step  into  a  railroad-car 
without  a  sort  of  secret  hope  of  a  collision. 

This  is  the  courage  of  heroic  races,  as  Highlanders, 
Circassian?,  Montenegrins,  Afghans,  and  those  Arabs 
among  whom  Urquhart  finely  said  that  peace  could  not 
be  purchased  by  victory.  Where  destined  to  appear  at 
all,  it  is  likely  to  be  developed  in  extreme  youth,  which 
explains  such  instances  as  the  gamins  de  Paris,  and  that 
of  Sir  Clondesley  Shovel,  who  in  boyhood  conveyed  a 


38  PHYSICAL   COURAGE. 

despatch  during  a  naval  engagement,  swimming  through 
double  lines  of  fire.  Indeed,  among  heroic  races,  young 
soldiers  are  preferable  for  daring ;  such,  at  least,  is  the 
testimony  of  the  highest  authorities,  as  Ney  and  Welling- 
ton. "  I  have  found,"  said  the  Duke,  "  that  raw  troops, 
however  inferior  to  the  old  ones  in  mano3uvring,  may  be 
superior  to  them  in  downright  hard  fighting  with  the 
enemy.  At  Waterloo,  the  young  ensigns  and  lieutenants, 
who  had  never  before  seen  an  enemy,  rushed  to  meet 
death  as  if  they  were  playing  at  cricket." 

But  though  youth  is  good  for  an  onset,  it  needs  habit 
and  discipline  to  give  steadiness.  A  boy  will  risk  his  life 
where  a  veteran  will  be  too  circumspect  to  follow  him  ; 
but  to  perform  a  difficult  manoeuvre  in  face  of  an  enemy 
requires  Sicinius  with  forty-five  scars  on  his  breast  "  The 
very  apprehension  of  a  wound,"  said  Seneca,  "  startles  a 
man  when  he  first  bears  arms  ;  but  an  old  soldier  bleeds 
boldly,  for  he  knows  that  a  man  may  lose  blood  and  yet 
win  the  day."  Before  the  battle  of  Preston  Pans,  Mr. 
Ker  of  Graden,  "  an  experienced  officer,"  mounted  on  a 
gray  pony,  coolly  reconnoitred  all  the  difficult  ground 
between  the  two  armies,  crossed  it  in  several  directions, 
deliberately  alighted  more  than  once  to  lead  his  horse 
through  gaps  made  for  that  purpose  in  the  stone  walls, 
—  under  a  constant  shower  of  musket-balls.  He  finally 
returned  unhurt  to  Charles  Edward,  and  dissuaded  him 
from  crossing.  Undoubtedly,  any  raw  Highlander  in  the 
army  would  have  incurred  the  same  risk,  with  or  without 
a  sufficient  object;  but  not  one  of  them  would  have  brought 
back  so  clear  a  report,  —  if,  indeed,  he  had  brought  him- 
self back. 

The  most  common  evidence  of  this  frequent  depend- 
ence of  courage  on  habit  is  in  the  comparative  timidity  of 


PHYSICAL   COURAGE.  39 

brave  men  against  novel  dangers,  —  as  of  sailors  on  horse- 
back, and  mountaineers  at  sea.  Nay,  the  same  effect  is 
sometimes  produced  merely  by  different  forms  of  danger 
within  the  same  sphere.  Sea-captains  often  attach  an"  ex- 
aggerated sense  of  peril  to  small  boats ;  Conde  confessed 
himself  a  coward  in  a  street-fight ;  and  William  the  Con- 
queror is  said  to  have  trembled  exceedingly  (vehementer 
tremens)  during  the  disturbance  which  interrupted  his  cor- 
onation. It  was  probably  from  just  the  same  cause,  that 
Mrs.  Inchbald,  the  most  fearless  of  actresses,  was  once 
entirely  overcome  by  timidity  on  assuming  a  character  in 
a  masquerade. 

On  a  larger  scale,  the  mere  want  of  habitual  exposure 
to  danger  will  often  cause  a  whole  population  to  be 
charged  with  greater  cowardice  than  really  belongs  to 
them.  Thus,  after  the  coronation  of  the  Chevalier,  in 
the  Scottish  insurrection  of  1745,  although  the  populace 
of  Edinburgh  crowded  around  him,  kissing  his  veiy  gar- 
ments when  he  walked  abroad,  yet  scarcely  a  man  could 
be  enlisted,  in  view  of  the  certainty  of  an  approaching 
battle  with  General  Cope.  And  before  this,  when  the 
Highlanders  were  marching  on  the  city,  out  of  a  volun- 
teer corps  of  four  hundred  raised  to  meet  them,  all  but 
forty-five  deserted  before  the  gate  was  passed.  Yet  there 
is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  these  frightened  citizens,  after 
having  once  stood  fire,  might  have  been  as  brave  as  the 
average.  It  was  a  saying  in  Kansas,  that  the  New  Eng- 
land men  needed  to  be  shot  at  once  or  twice,  after  which 
they  became  the  bravest  of  the  brave. 

This  habitual  courage  mingles  itself,  doubtless,  with  the 
third  species,  the  magnetic,  or  transmitted.  No  mental 
philosopher  has  yet  done  justice  to  the  wondrous  power  of 
leadership,  the  "  art  Napoleon."  "  There  go  thirty  thou- 


40  PHYSICAL   COURAGE. 

eand  men,"  shouted  the  Portuguese,  as  Wellington  rode 
alone  up  the  mountain-side,  —  and  Wellington  in  turn 
used  almost  the  same  phrase  in  describing  Napoleon  to 
Rogers.  The  ancients  stated  it  best  in  their  proverb,  that 
an  army  of  stags  led  by  a  lion  is  more  formidable  than  an 
army  of  lions  led  by  a  stag.  It  was  for  this  reason  that 
the  Greeks  used  to  send  to  Sparta,  not  for  soldiers,  but 
for  a  general.  When  Crillon,  fkomme  sans  peur,  defended 
Quilleboeuf  with  a  handful  of  men  against  the  army  of 
Marshal  Villars,  the  latter  represented  to  him,  that  it  was 
madness  to  resist  such  superiority  of  numbers,  to  which 
the  answer  was  simply,  —  "  Crillon  est  dedans,  et  Villars 
est  dehors."  The  event  proved  that  the  hero  inside  was 
stronger  than  the  army  outside. 

Every  one  knows  that  there  is  a  certain  magnetic  power 
in  courage,  apart  from  all  physical  strength.  In  a  family  of 
lone  women,  there  is  usually  some  one  whose  presence  is 
held  to  confer  safety  on  the  house :  she  may  be  a  delicate 
invalid,  but  she  is  not  afraid.  The  same  quality  explains 
the  difference  in  the  demeanor  of  different  companies  of 
men  and  women,  in  great  emergencies  of  danger.  Read 
one  narrative  of  shipwreck,  and  human  nature  seems  all 
sublime  ;  read  another,  and,  under  circumstances  equally 
desperate,  it  appears  base,  selfish,  grovelling.  The  differ- 
ence lies  simply  in  the  influence  of  a  few  leading  spirits. 
Ordinarily,  as  is  the  captain,  so  are  the  officers,  so  are  the 
passengers,  so  are  the  sailors.  Bonaparte  said,  that  at  the 
beginning  of  almost  every  battle  there  was  a  moment  when 
the  bravest  troops  were  liable  to  sudden  panic;  let  the 
personal  control  of  the  general  once  lead  them  past  that, 
and  the  field  was  half  won. 

The  courage  of  self-dev>tion,  lastly,  is  the  faculty 
evoked  by  special  exigencies,  in  persons  who  have  before 


PHYSICAL  COURAGE.  41 

given  no  peculiar  evidence  of  daring.  It  belongs  espe- 
cially to  the  race  of  martyrs  and  enthusiasts,  whose  per- 
sonal terrors  vanish  in  the  greatness  of  the  object,  so  that 
Joan  of  Arc,  listening  to  the  songs  of  the  angels,  does  not 
feel  the  flames.  This,  indeed,  is  the  accustomed  form  in 
which  woman's  courage  proclaims  itself  at  last,  unsus- 
pected until  the  crisis  comes.  This  has  given  us  the 
deeds  of  Flora  Macdonald,  Jane  Lane,  and  the  Countess 
of  Derby  ;  the  rescue  of  Lord  Nithisdale  by  his  wife,  and 
that  planned  for  Montro^e  by  Lady  Margaret  Durham  ; 
the  heroism  of  Catherine  Douglas,  thrusting  her  arm  with- 
in the  stanchions  of  the  doorway  to  protect  James  I.  of 
Scotland,  till  his  murderers  shattered  the  frail  barrier; 
and  that  sublimest  narrative  of  woman's  devotion,  Ger- 
trude Van  der  "Wart  at  her  husband's  execution.  It  is 
possible  that  all  these  women  may  have  been  timid  and 
shrinking  before  the  hour  of  trial ;  and  every  emergency, 
in  peace  or  war,  brings  out  some  such  instances.  At  the 
close  of  the  troubles  of  1856  in  Kansas,  I  chanced  to  be 
visiting  a  lady  in  Lawrence,  who,  in  opening  her  work- 
basket,  accidentally  let  fall  a  small  pistol.  She  smiled 
and  blushed,  and  presently  acknowledged,  that,  when  she 
had  first  pulled  the  trigger  experimentally,  six  months 
before,  she  had  shut  her  eyes  and  screamed,  although 
there  was  only  a  percussion-cap  to  explode.  Yet  it  after- 
wards appeared  that  she  was  one  of  the  few  women  who 
remained  in  their  houses,  to  protect  them  by  their  pres- 
ence, when  the  town  was  entered  by  the  Missourians,  — 
and  also  one  of  the  still  smaller  number  who  brought  their 
rifles  to  aid  their  husbands  in  the  redoubt,  when  two  hun- 
dred were  all  that  could  be  rallied  against  three  thousand, 
in  September  of  that  eventful  year.  Thus  easily  is  the 
transition  effected ! 


42  PHYSICAL   COURAGE. 

This  is  the  courage,  also,  of  Africans,  as  manifested 
among  ourselves,  —  the  courage  created  by  desperate 
emergencies.  Suppled  by  long  slavery,  softened  by  mix- 
ture of  blood,  the  black  man  seems  to  pass  at  one  bound, 
as  women  do,  from  cowering  pusillanimity  to  the  topmost 
height  of  daring.  The  giddy  laugh  vanishes,  the  idle  chat- 
ter is  hushed,  and  the  buffoon  becomes  a  hero.  Nothing 
in  history  surpasses  the  bravery  of  the  Maroons  of  Suri- 
nam, as  described  by  Sfedman,  or  of  those  of  Jamaica,  as 
delineated  by  Dallas.  Agents  of  the  "Underground  Rail- 
road "  report  that  the  incidents  which  daily  come  to  their 
knowledge  are  beyond  all  Greek,  all  Roman  fame.  These 
men  and  women,  who  have  tested  their  courage  in  the 
lonely  swamp  against  the  alligator  and  the  bloodhound, 
who  have  starved  on  prairies,  hidden  in  holds,  clung  to 
locomotives,  ridden  hundreds  of  miles  cramped  in  boxes, 
head  downward,  equally  near  to  death  if  discovered  or 
deserted,  —  and  who  have  then,  after  enduring  all  this, 
gone  voluntarily  back  to  risk  it  over  again,  for  the  sake 
of  wife  or  child,  —  what  are  we  pale  faces,  that  we  should 
claim  a  rival  capacity  with  theirs  for  heroic  deeds?  What 
matter,  if  none,  below  the  throne  of  God,  can  now  identify 
that  nameless  negro -in  the  Tennessee  iron-works,  who, 
during  the  last  insurrection,  said  "  he  knew  all  about  the 
plot,  but  would  die  before  he  would  tell?  He  received 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  lashes,  and  died"  Yet  where, 
amid  the  mausoleums  of  the  world,  is  there  carved  an 
epitaph  like  that  ? 

The  courage  of  blood,  of  habit,  or  of  imitation,  is  not 
necessarily  a  very  exalted  thing.  But  the  courage  of 
self-devotion  cannot  be  otherwise  than  noble,  however 
wasted  on  fanaticism  or  delusion.  It  enters  the  domain 
of  conscience.  Yet,  although  the  sublimest,  it  is  not 


PHYSICAL   COURAGE.  43 

necessarily  the  most  undaunted  form  of  courage.  It  is 
vain  to  measure  merit  by  martyrdom,  without  reference 
to  the  temperament,  the  occasion,  and  the  aim.  There  is 
no  passion  in  the  mind  of  man  so  weak,  said  Lord  Bacon, 
but  it  mates  and  masters  the  fear  of  death.  Sinner,  as 
well  as  saint,  may  be  guillotined  or  lynched,  and  endure 
it  well.  A  red  Indian  or  a  Chinese  robber  will  dare  the 
stake  as  composedly  as  an  early  Christian  or  an  aboli- 
tionist. One  of  the  bravest  of  all  death-scenes  was  the 
execution  of  Simon,  Lord  Lovat,  who  was  unquestionably 
one  of  the  greatest  scoundrels  that  ever  burdened  the 
earth.  We  must  look  deeper.  The  test  of  a  man  is  not 
in  the  amount  of  his  endurance,  but  in  its  motive  ;  does 
he  love  the  right,  he  may  die  in  glory  on  a  bed  of  down  ; 
is  he  false  and  base,  the^-i  things  thrust  discord  into  his 
hymn  of  dying  anguish,  and  no  crown  of  thorns  can  sanc- 
tify his  drooping  head.  Physical  courage  is,  after  all,  but 
a  secondary  quality,  and  needs  a  sublime  motive  to  make 
it  thoroughly  sublime. 

Among  all  these  different  forms  of  courage  it  is  almost 
equally  true  that  it  is  the  hardest  of  all  qualities  to  pre- 
dict or  identify,  in  an  individual  case,  before  the  actual 
trial.  Many  a  man  has  been  unable  to  discover,  till  the 
critical  moment,  whether  he  himself  possessed  it  or  not. 
It  is  often  denied  to  the  healthy  and  strong,  and  given  to 
the  weak.  The  pugilist  may  be  a  poltroon,  and  the  book- 
worm a  hero.  I  have  seen  the  most  purely  ideal  philos- 
opher in  this  country  face  the  dark  muzzles  of  a  dozen 
loaded  revolvers  with  his  usual  serene  composure.  And 
on  the  other  hand,  I  have  known  a  black-bearded  back- 
woodsman, whose  mere  voice  and  presence  would  quell 
any  riot  among  the  lumberers, — yet  this  man,  nicknamed 
by  his  employes  "  the  black  devil,"  confessed  himself  to  be 
in  secret  the  most  timid  of  lambs. 


44  PHYSICAL   COURAGE. 

One  reason  of  this  difficulty  of  estimate  lies  in  the  fact, 
that  courage  and  cowardice  often  complicate  themselves 
with  other  qualities,  and  so  show  false  colors.  For  in- 
stance, the  presence  or  absence  of  modesty  may  disguise 
the  genuine  character.  The  unpretending  are  not  al- 
ways timid,  nor  always  brave.  The  boaster  is  not  always, 
but  only  commonly,  a  coward.  Were  it  otherwise,  how 
could  we  explain  the  existence  of  courage  in  Frenchmen 
or  Indians?  Barking  dogs  sometimes  bite,  as  many  a 
small  boy,  too  trustful  of  the  proverb,  has  found  to  his 
cost.  "  If  that  be  a  friend  of  yours,"  says  Brantome's 
brave  Spanish  Cavalier,  ''pray  for  his  soul,  for  he  has 
quarrelled  with  me."  Indeed,  the  Gascons,  whose  name 
is  identified  with  boasting,  (gasconade,)  were  always 
among  the  bravest  races  in  Europe. 

Again,  the  mere  quality  of  caution  is  often  mistaken 
for  cowardice,  while  heedlessness  passes  for  daring.  A 
late  eminent  American  sculptor,  a  man  of  undoubted 
courage,  is  said  to  have  always  taken  the  rear  car  in  a 
railroad  train.  Such  a  spirit  of  prudence,  where  well 
directed,  is  to  be  viewed  with  respect.  We  ought  not  to 
reverence  the  blind  recklessness  which  sits  on  the  safety- 
valve  during  a  steamboat-race,  but  the  cool  composure 
which  neither  underrates  a  danger  nor  shrinks  from  it. 
The  best  encomium  is  that  of  Malcolm  M'Leod  upon 
Charles  Edward,  — "  He  was  the  most  cautious  man, 
not  to  be  a  coward,  and  the  bravest  man,  not  to  be  rash, 
that  I  ever  saw  " ;  or  that  of  Charles  VII.  of  France  upon 
Pierre  d'Aubusson,  —  "  Never  did  I  see  united  so  much 
fire  and  so  much  wisdom." 

Still  again,  men  vary  as  to  the  form  of  danger  which 
tests  them  most  severely.  The  Irish  are  undoubtedly  a 
brave  nation,  but  their  courage  is  apt  to  vanish  in  pres- 


PHYSICAL   COURAGE.  45 

ence  of  sickness.  They  are  not,  however,  alone  in  this, 
if  we  may  judge  from  the  newspaper  statements,  that, 
after  the  recent  quarantine  riots  in  New  York,  a  small- 
pox patient  lay  all  day  untended  in  the  Park,  because  no 
one  dared  to  go  near  him.  It  is  said  of  Dr.  Johnson, 
that  he  was  a  hero  against  pain,  but  a  coward  against 
death.  Probably  the  converse  is  quite  as  common.  To 
a  believer  in  immortality,  death,  even  when  premature, 
can  scarcely  be  regarded  as  an  unmitigated  evil,  but  pain 
enforces  its  own  recognition.  One  can  hardly  agree  with 
the  frightened  recruit  in  the  farce,  who  thinks  "  Victory 
or  Death  "  a  forbidding  war-cry,  but  "  Victory  or  Wooden 
Legs  "  a  more  appetizing  alternative. 

Besides  these  complications,  there  are  those  arising 
from  the  share  which  conscience  has  in  the  matter. 
"  Thrice  is  he  armed  that  hath  his  quarrel  just,"  and  the 
most  resolute  courage  will  sometimes  quail  in  a  bad 
cause,  and  even  die  in  its  armor,  like  Bois-Guilbert.  It 
was  generally  admitted,  on  both  sides,  in  Kansas,  that  the 
"  Border  Ruffians  "  seldom  dared  face  an  equal  number  ; 
yet  nobody  asserted  that  these  men  were  intrinsically 
deficient  in  daring ;  it  was  only  conscience  which  made 
cowards  of  them  all. 

But  it  is,  after  all,  the  faculty  of  imagination  which, 
more  than  all  else,  confuses  the  phenomena  of  courage 
and  cowardice.  A  very  imaginative  child  is  almost  sure 
to  be  reproached  with  timidity,  while  mere  stolidity  takes 
rank  as  courage.  The  bravest  boy  may  sometimes  be 
most  afraid  of  the  dark,  or  of  ghosts,  or  of  the  great  mys- 
teries of  storms  and  the  sea.  Even  the  mighty  Charle- 
magne shuddered  when  the  professed  enchanter  brought 
before  him  the  vast  forms  of  Dietrich  and  his  Northern 
companions,  on  horseback.  We  once  saw  a  party  of  boys 


46  PHYSICAL   COURAGE. 

tested  by  an  alarm  which  appealed  solely  to  the  imagina- 
tion. The  only  one  among  them  who  stood  the  test  was 
the  most  cowardly  of  the  group,  who  escaped  the  conta- 
gion through  sheer  lack  of  this  faculty.  Any  imaginative 
person  can  occasionally  test  this  on  himself  by  sleeping  in 
a  large  lonely  house,,  or  by  bathing  alone  in  some  solitary 
place  by  the  great  ocean ;  there  comes  a  thrill  which  is 
not  born  of  terror,  and  the  mere  presence  of  a  child 
breaks  the  spell,  —  though  it  would  only  enhance  the 
actual  danger,  if  danger  there  were. 

This  explains  the  effect  of  darkness  on  danger.  "  Let 
Ajax  perish  in  the  face  of  day."  "Who  has  not  shuddered 
over  the  description  of  that  Arkansas  duel,  fought  by  two 
naked  combatants,  with  pistol  and  bowie-knife,  in  a  dark 
room  ?  One  thrills  to  think  of  those  first  few  moments  of 
breathless,  sightless,  hopeless,  hushed  expectation,  —  then 
the  confused  encounter,  the  slippery  floor,  the  invisible, 
ghastly  terrors  of  that  horrible  chamber.  Many  a  man 
would  shrink  from  that,  who  would  march  coolly  up  to  the 
cannon's  mouth  by  daylight. 

It  is  probably  this  mingling  of  imaginative  excitement 
which  makes  the  approach  of  peril  often  more  terrible 
than  its  actual  contact.  "  A  true  knight,"  said  Sir  Philip 
Sidney,  "  is  fuller  of  gay  bravery  in  the  midst  than  at  the 
beginning  of  danger."  The  boy  Conde*  was  reproached 
with  trembling,  in  his  first  campaign.  "  My  body  trem- 
bles," said  the  hero,  "  with  the  actions  my  soul  meditates." 
And  it  is  said  of  Charles  V.,  that  he  often  trembled  when 
arming  for  battle,  but  in  the  conflict  was  as  cool  as  if  it 
were  impossible  for  an  emperor  to  be  killed.  So  Turenne 
was  once  asked  by  M.  de  Lamoignon,  at  the  dinner-table 
of  the  latter,  if  his  courage  was  never  shaken  at  the  com- 
mencement of  a  battle  ?  "  Yes,"  said  Turenne,  "  I  some« 


PHYSICAL   COURAGE.  41 

times  undergo  great  nervous  excitement;  but  there  are 
in  the  army  a  great  multitude  of  subaltern  officers  and 
soldiers  who  experience  none  whatever." 

To  give  to  any  form  of  courage  an  available  or  working 
value,  it  is  essential  that  it  have  two  qualities,  promptness 
and  persistency.  What  Napoleon  called  u  two  o'clock-iii- 
the-morning  courage  "  is  rare.  It  requires  great  enthu- 
siasm or  great  discipline  to  be  proof  against  a  surprise.  It 
is  said  that  Suwarrow,  even  in  peace,  always  slept  fully 
armed,  boots  and  all.  «  When  I  was  lazy,"  he  said,  «  and 
wanted  to  enjoy  a  comfortable  sleep,  I  usually  took  off  one 
spur."  In  regard  to  persistency,  history  is  full  of  instances 
of  unexpected  reverses  and  eleventh-hour  triumphs.  The 
battle  of  Marengo  was  considered  hopeless,  for  the  first 
half  of  the  day,  and  a  retreat  was  generally  expected 
on  the  part  of  the  French ;  when  Desaix,  consulted  by 
Bonaparte,  looked  at  his  watch,  and  said,  «  The  battle  is 
completely  lost,  but  it  is  only  two  o'clock,  and  we  shall 
nave  time  to  gain  another."  He  then  made  his  famous 
and  fatal  cavalry-charge,  and  won  the  field.  It  was  from 
a  noble  appreciation  of  this  quality  of  persistency,  that, 
when  the  battle  of  Cannae  was  lost,  and  Hannibal  was 
measuring  by  bushels  the  rings  of  the  fallen  Roman 
knights,  the  Senate  of  Rome  voted  thanks  to  the  defeated 
general,  Consul  Terentius  Varro,  for  not  having  despaired 
of  the  republic. 

Thus  armed  at  all  points,  incapable  of  being  either 
surprised  or  exhausted,  courage  achieves  results  which 
seem  miraculous.  It  is  an  element  of  inspiration,  some- 
thing superadded  and  incalculable,  when  all  the  other 
forces  are  exhausted.  When  we  consider  how  really 
formidable  becomes  the  humblest  of  quadrupeds,  cat  or 
lat,  when  it  grows  mad  and  desperate  and  throws  all 


48  PHYSICAL  COURAGE. 

personal  fear  behind,  it  is  clear  that  there  must  be  a  re- 
served power  in  human  daring  which  defies  computation 
and  equalizes  the  most  fearful  odds.  Take  one  man,  mad 
with  excitement  or  intoxication,  place  him  with  his  back 
to  the  wall,  a  knife  in  his  hand,  and  the  fire  of  utter  frenzy 
in  his  eyes,  —  and  who,  among  the  thousand  bystanders, 
dares  make  the  first  attempt  to  disarm  him  ?  Desperate 
courage  makes  one  a  majority.  Baron  Trenck  nearly 
escaped  from  the  fortress  of  Glatz  at  noonday,  snatching 
a  sword  from  an  officer,  passing  all  the  sentinels  with  a 
sudden  rush,  and  almost  effecting  his  retreat  to  the  moun- 
tains ;  "  which  incident  will  prove,"  he  says,  "  that  ad- 
venturous and  even  rash  daring  will  render  the  most 
improbable  undertakings  successful,  and  that  desperate 
attempts  may  often  make  a  general  more  fortunate  and 
famous  than  the  wisest  and  best-concerted  plans." 

It  is  this  miraculous  quality  which  helps  to  explain  the 
extraordinary  victories  of  history :  as  where  the  army  of 
Lucullus  at  Tigranocerta  slew  one  hundred  thousand  bar- 
barians with  .the  loss  of  only  a  hundred  men,  —  or  where 
Colic's  conquered  Mexico  with  six  hundred  foot  and  six- 
teen horse.  The  astounding  narratives  in  the  chivalry 
romances,  where  the  historian  risks  his  Palmerin  or  Ama- 
dis  as  readily  against  twenty  giants  as  one,  secure  of 
bringing  him  safely  through,  —  or  the  corresponding 
modern  marvels  of  Alexandre  Dumas,  —  seem  scarcely 
exaggerations  of  actual  events.  A  Portuguese,  at  the 
siege  of  Goa,  inserted  a  burning  match  in  a  cask  of  gun- 
powder, then  grasped  it  in  his  arms,  and,  crying  to  his 
companions,  "  Stand  aside,  I  bear  my  own  and  many 
men's  lives,"  threw  it  among  the  enemy,  of  whom  a  hun- 
dred were  killed  by  the  explosion,  the  bearer  being  left 
unhurt.  John  Haring,  on  a  Flemish  dike,  held  a  thou- 


PHYSICAL   COURAGE.  45 

sand  men  at  bay,  saved  his  army,  and  finally  escaped 
uninjured.  And  the  motto  of  Bayard,  Vires  agminis 
unus  habet,  was  given  him  after  singly  defending  a  bridge 
against  two  hundred  Spaniards.  Such  men  appear  to 
bear  charmed  lives,  and  to  be  identical  with  the  laws  of 
Fate.  "  What  a  soldier,  what  a  Roman,  was  thy  father, 
my  young  bride  !  How  could  they  who  never  saw  him 
have  discoursed  so  rightly  upon  virtue  ?  " 

From  popular  want  of  faith  in  these  infinite  resources 
of  daring,  it  is  a  common  thing  for  persons  of  eminent 
courage  to  be  stigmatized  as  rash.  This  has  been  strik- 
ingly the  case,  for  instance,  in  modern  times,  with  the 
Marquis  of  Wellesley  and  Sir  Charles  Napier.  When 
the  Duke  of  Wellington  was  in  the  Peninsula  in  1810, 
the  City  of  London  addressed  the  throne,  protesting 
against  the  bestowal  of  "  honorable  distinctions  upon  a 
general  who  had  thus  far  exhibited,  with  equal  rashness 
and  ostentation,  nothing  but  an  useless  valor." 

But  if  bravery  is  liable  to  exist  in  excess,  on  the  one 
side,  it  is  a  comfort  to  think  that  it  is  capabje  of  cultiva- 
tion, where  deficient.  There  may  be  a  few  persons  born 
absolutely  without  the  power  of  courage,  as  without  the 
susceptibility  to  music,  —  but  very  few ;  and,  no  doubt, 
the  elements  of  daring,  like  those  of  musical  perception, 
can  be  developed  in  almost  all.  Once  rouse  the  enthu- 
siasm of  the  will,  and  courage  can  be  systematically  dis- 
ciplined. Emerson's  maxim  gives  the  best  regimen: 
"  Always  do  what  you  are  afraid  to  do."  If  your  lot  is 
laid  amid  scenes  of  peace,  then  carry  the  maxim  into  the 
arts  of  peace.  Are  you  afraid  to  swim  that  river  ?  then 
swim  it.  Are  you  afraid  to  leap  that  fence  ?  then  leap 
it.  Do  you  shrink  from  the  dizzy  height  of  yonder 
magnificent  pine?  then  climb  it,  and  "throw  down  the 


50  PHYSICAL   COURAGE. 

top,"  as  they  do  in  the  forests  of  Maine.  Goethe  cured 
himself  of  dizziness  by  ascending  the  lofty  stagings  of  the 
Frankfort  carpenters.  Nothing  is  insignificant  that  is 
great  enough  to  alarm  you.  If  you  cannot  think  of  a 
grizzly  bear  without  a  slvidder,  then  it  is  almost  worth 
your  while  to  travel  to  the  Rocky  Mountains  in  order  to 
encounter  the  reality.  It  is  said  that  Van  Amburgh  at- 
tributed all  his  power  over  animals  to  the  similar  rule 
given  him  by  his  mother  in  his  boyhood,  —  "  If  anything 
frightens  you,  walk  up  and  face  it."  Applying  this 
maxim  boldly,  he  soon  satisfied  himself  that  man  pos- 
sessed a  natural  power  of  control  over  all  animals,  if  he 
dared  to  exercise  it  He  said  that  every  animal  divined 
by  unerring  instinct  the  existence  of  fear  in  his  ruler, 
and  a  moment's  indecision  might  cost  one's  life.  On 
being  asked,  what  he  should  do,  if  he  found  himself  in 
the  desert,  face  to  face  with  a  lion,  he  answered,  "  If  I 
wished  for  certain  death,  I  should  turn  and  run  away." 

Physical  courage  may  be  educated ;  but  it  must  be 
trained  for  its  own  sake.  We  say  again,  it  must  not  be 
left  to  moral  courage  to  include  it,  for  the  two  faculties 
have  different  elements,  —  and  what  God  has  joined, 
human  inconsistency  may  put  asunder.  The  disjunction 
is  easy  to  explain.  Many  men,  when  committed  on  the 
right  side  of  any  question,  get  credit  for  a  "  moral  cour- 
age," which  is,  in  their  case,  only  an  intense  egotism, 
isolating  them  from  all  demand  for  human  sympathy.  In 
the  best  cause,  they  prefer  to  belong  to  a  party  con- 
veniently small,  and,  on  the  slightest  indications  of  pop- 
ular approbation,  begin  to  suspect  themselves  of  com- 
promise. The  abstract  martyrdom  of  unpopularity  is 
therefore  clear  gain  to  them ;  but  when  it  comes  to  the 
rack  and  the  thumbscrew,  the  revolver  and  the  bowie- 


PHYSICAL   COURAGE.  51 

knife,  the  same  habitual  egotism  makes  them  cowards. 
These  men  are  annoying  in  themselves,  and  still  worse 
because  they  throw  discredit  on  the  noble  and  unselfish 
reformers  with  whom  they  are  identified  in  position. 
But  even  among  this  higher  class  there  are  differences 
of  temperament,  and  it  costs  one  man  an  effort  to  face 
the  brute  argument  of  the  slung-shot,  while  another's 
fortitude  is  not  seriously  tested  till  it  comes  to  facing  the 
newspaper  editors. 

These  are  but  a  few  aspects  of  a  rich  and  endless 
theme,  depicted  more  by  examples  than  analysis,  accord- 
ing to  the  saying  of  Sidney,  that  Alexander  received 
more  bravery  of  mind  by  the  example  of  Achilles  than 
by  hearing  the  definition  of  fortitude.  If  the  illustrations 
have  seemed  to  be  drawn  too  profusely  from  the  records 
of  battles,  it  is  to  be  remembered,  that,  even  if  war  be 
not  the  best  nurse  of  heroisms,  it  is  their  best  historian. 
The  chase,  for  instance,  though  perhaps  as  prolific  in 
deeds  of  daring  as  the  camp,  has  found  few  Cummings 
and  Gerards  for  annalists,  and  the  more  trivial  aim  of  the 
pursuit  diminishes  the  permanence  of  its  records.  The 
sublime  fortitude  of  hospitals,  the  bravery  shown  in  in- 
fected cities,  the  fearlessness  of  firemen  and  of  sailors, 
these  belong  to  those  times  of  peace  which  have  as  yet 
few  historians.  But  the  deep  foundations  and  instincts 
of  courage  are  the  same  wherever  exhibited,  and  it  mat- 
ters little  whence  the  illustrations  come.  Doubtless,  for 
every  great  deed  ever  narrated,  there  were  a  hundred 
greater  ones  untold  ;  and  the  noblest  valor  of  the  world 
may  sleep  unrecorded,  like  the  heroes  before  Homer. 

But  there  are  things  which,  once  written,  the  world 
does  not  willingly  let  die ;  embalmed  in  enthusiasm, 
borne  down  on  the  unconquerable  instincts  of  child- 


52  PHYSICAL   COURAGE. 

hood,  they  become  imperishable  and  eternal.  We  need 
not  travel  to  visit  the  graves  of  the  heroes :  they  are 
become  a  part  of  the  common  air ;  their  line  is  gone  out 
to  all  generations.  Shakespeares  are  but  their  servants  ; 
no  change  of  time  or  degradation  of  circumstance  can 
debar  us  from  their  lesson.  The  fascination  which 
every  one  finds  in  the  simplest  narrative  of  daring  is 
the  sufficient  testimony  to  its  priceless  and  permanent 
worth.  Human  existence  finds  its  range  expanded, 
when  Demosthenes  describes  Philip  of  Macedon,  his 
enemy :  "  I  saw  this  Philip,  with  whom  we  disputed  for 
empire.  I  saw  him,  though  covered  with  wounds,  his 
eye  struck  out,  his  collar-bone  broken,  maimed  in  his 
hands,  maimed  in  his  feet,  still  resolutely  rush  into  the 
midst  of  dangers,  ready  to  deliver  up  to  Fortune  any 
part  of  his  body  she  might  require,  provided  he  might 
live  honorably  and  gloriously  with  the  rest."  Would 
it  not  be  shameful,  that  war  should  leave  us  such 
memories  as  these,  and  peace  bequeath  us  only  money 
and  repose  ?  True,  "  peace  hath  her  victories,  no  less 
renowned  than  war."  No  less !  but  they  should  be 
infinitely  greater.  Esto  miles  pacificus,  "  Be  the  sol- 
dier of  peace,"  was  the  priestly  benediction  of  mediaeval 
knights ;  and  the  aspirations  of  humaner  ages  should 
lead  us  into  heroisms  which  Plutarch  never  portrayed, 
and  of  which  Bayard  and  Sidney  only  prophesied,  but 
died  without  the  sight. 


A   LETTER   TO   A   DYSPEPTIC. 


A  LETTER  TO   A   DYSPEPTIC. 


YES,  my  dear  Dolorosus,  I  commiserate  you.  I 
regard  your  case,  perhaps,  with  even  sadder  emo- 
tions than  that  excellent  family-physician  who  has  been 
sounding  its  depths  these  four  years  with  a  golden  plum- 
met, and  has  never  yet  touched  bottom.  From  those 
generous  confidences  which,  in  common  with  most  of 
your  personal  acquaintances,  I  daily  share,  I  am  satisfied 
that  no  description  can  do  justice  to  your  physical 
disintegration,  unless  it  be  the  wreck  of  matter  and 
the  crush  of  worlds  with  which  Mr.  Addison  winds  up 
Cato's  Soliloquy.  So  far  as  I  can  ascertain,  there  is 
not  an  organ  of  your  internal  structure  which  is  in  its 
right  place,  at  present,  or  which  could  perform  any  par- 
ticular service,  if  it  were  there.  In  the  extensive 
library  of  medical  almanacs  and  circulars  which  I  find 
daily  deposited  by  travelling  agents  at  my  front  door, 
among  all  the  agonizing  vignettes  of  diseases  which  adorn 
their  covers,  and  which  Irish  Bridget  daily  studies  with 
inexperienced  enjoyment  in  the  front  entry,  there  is  no 
case  which  seems  to  afford  a  parallel  to  yours.  I  found 
it  stated  in  one  of  these  works,  the  other  day,  that  there 
is  iron  enough  in  the  blood  of  twenty-four  men  to  make 
a  broadsword;  but  I  am  satisfied  that  it  would  be  inv 


56  A  LETTER   TO  A   DYSPEPTIC. 

possible  to  extract  enough  from  the  veins  of  yourself 
and  your  whole  family  to  construct  a  crochet-needle 
for  your  eldest  daughter.  And  I  am  quite  confident, 
that,  if  all  the  four  hundred  muscles  of  your  present 
body  were  twisted  together  by  a  rope-maker,  they  would 
not  furnish  that  patient  young  laborer  with  a  needleful 
of  thread. 

You  are  undoubtedly,  as  you  claim,  a  martyr  to  Dys- 
pepsia ;  or  if  you  prefer  any  other  technical  name  for 
your  disease  or  diseases,  I  will  acquiesce  in  any,  except, 
perhaps,  the  word  "  Neurology,"  which  I  must  regard  as 
foreign  to  etymological  science,  if  not  to  medical.  Your 
case,  you  think,  is  hard.  I  should  think  it  would  be. 
Yet  I  am  impressed  by  it,  I  must  admit,  as  was  our 
adopted  fellow-citizen  by  the  contemplation  of  Niagara. 
He,  you  remember,  when  pressed  to  admire  the  eternal 
plunge  of  the  falling  water,  could  only  inquire,  with 
serene  acquiescence  in  natural  laws,  "And  what's  to 
hinder  ?  "  I  confess  myself  moved  to  similar  reflections 
by  your  disease  and  its  history.  My  dear  Dolorosus, 
can  you  acquaint  me  with  any  reason,  in  the  heavens 
above  or  on  the  earth  beneath,  why  you  should  not  have 
dyspepsia  ? 

My  thoughts  involuntarily  wander  back  to  that  golden 
period,  five  years  ago,  when  I  spent  one  night  and  day 
beneath  your  hospitable  roof.  I  arrived,  I  remember, 
late  in  the  evening.  The  bedroom  to  which  you  kindly 
conducted  me,  after  a  light  but  wholesome  supper  of 
doughnuts  and  cheese,  was  pleasing  in  respect  to  furni- 
ture, but  questionable  in  regard  to  physiology.  The 
house  was  not  more  than  twenty  years  old,  and  the  cham- 
ber must  therefore  have  been  aired  within  that  distance 
of  time,  but  not,  I  should  have  judged,  more  recently. 


A   LETTER   TO  A  DYSPEPTIC.  57 

Perhaps  its  close,  oppressive  atmosphere  could  not  have 
been  analyzed  into  as  many  separate  odors  as  Coleridge 
distinguished  in  Cologne,  —  but  I  could  easily  identify 
aromatic  vinegar,  damp  straw,  lemons,  and  dyed  silk 
gowns.  And,  as  each  of  the  windows  was  carefully 
nailed  down,  there  were  no  obvious  means  of  obtaining 
fresh  air,  save  that  ventilator  said  to  be  used  by  an  eminent 
lady  in  railway-cars,  —  the  human  elbow.  The  lower 
bed  was  of  straw,  the  upper  of  feathers,  whose  extreme 
heat  kept  me  awake  for  a  portion  of  the  night,  and  whose 
abundant  fluffy  exhalations  suggested  incipient  asthma 
during  another  portion.  On  rising  from  these  rather  un- 
refreshing  slumbers,  I  performed  my  morning  ablutions 
with  the  aid  of  some  three  teacupsful  of  dusty  water, — 
for  the  pitcher  probably  held  that  quantity,  —  availing 
myself,  also,  of  something  which  hung  over  an  elegant 
towel-horse,  and  which,  though  I  at  first  took  it  for  a 
child's  handkerchief,  proved  on  inspection  to  be  u  Cham- 
ber Towel,  No.  1." 

I  remember,  as  I  entered  the  breakfast-room,  a  vague 
steam  as  of  frying  sausages,  which,  creeping  in  from  the 
neighboring  kitchen,  obscured  in  some  degree  the  five 
white  faces  of  your  wife  and  children.  The  breakfast- 
table  was  amply  covered,  for  you  were  always  what  is 
termed  by  judicious  housewives  "  a  good  provider."  I 
remember  how  the  beefsteak  (for  the  sausages  were  espe- 
cially destined  for  your  two  youngest  Dolorosi,  who  were 
just  recovering  from  the  measles,  and  needed  something 
light  and  palatable)  vanished  in  large  rectangular  masses 
within  your  throat,  drawn  downward  in  a  maelstrom  of 
coffee  ;  —  only  that  the  original  whirlpool  is,  I  believe, 
now  proved  to  have  been  imaginary  ;  —  "  that  cup  was 
a  fiction,  but  this  is  reality."  The  resources  of  the  house 

3* 


58  A   LETTER    TO  A   DYSPEPTIC. 

also  afforded  certain  very  hot  biscuits  or  breadcakes,  in  a 
high  state  of  saleratus ;  —  indeed,  it  must  have  been  from 
association  with  these,  that  certain  yellow  streaks  in  Mr. 
Buskin's  drawing  of  the  rock,  at  the  Athenaeum,  awak- 
ened in  me  such  an  immediate  sense  of  indigestion ;  — 
also  fried  potatoes,  baked  beans,  mince-pie,  and  pickles. 
The  children  partook  of  these  dainties  largely,  but  with- 
out undue  waste  of  time.  They  lingered  at  table  pre- 
cisely eight  minutes  before  setting  out  for  school ;  though 
we,  absorbed  in  conversation,  remained  at  least  ten;  af- 
ter which  we  instantly  hastened  to  your  counting-room, 
where  you,  without  a  moment's  delay,  absorbed  yourself 
in  your  ledger,  while  I  flirted  languidly  with  the  "  Daily 
Advertiser." 

You  bent  over  your  desk  the  whole  morning,  occa- 
sionally having  anxious  consultations  with  certain  sickly 
men  whom  I  supposed  to  be  superannuated  bookkeepers, 
in  impoverished  circumstances,  and  rather  pallid  from  the 
want  of  nutritious  food.  One  of  them,  dressed  in  rusty 
black,  with  a  flabby  white  neckcloth,  I  took  for  an  ex- 
clergyman  ;  he  was  absorbed  in  the  last  number  of  the 
"  Independent,"  though  I  observed,  at  length,  that  he  was 
only  studying  the  list  of  failures,  a  department  to  which, 
as  it  struck  me,  he  himself  peculiarly  appertained.  All 
of  these,  I  afterwards  ascertained  from  your  office-boy, 
were  eminent  capitalists ;  something  had  gone  wrong  in 
the  market,  —  not  in  the  meat-market,  as  I  should  have 
supposed  from  their  appearance,  but  in  the  money-mar- 
ket. I  believe  that  there  was  some  sudden  fall  in  the 
price  of  indigo.  I  know  you  looked  exceedingly  blue  as 
we  walked  home  to  dinner. 

Dinner  was  ready  the  instant  we  opened  the  front 
door.  I  expected  as  much  ;  I  knew  the  pale,  speechless 


A   LETTER    TO  A   DYSPEPTIC.  59 

woman  who  sat  at  the  head  of  your  table  would  make 
sure  of  punctuality,  if  she  died  for  it.  We  took  our  seats 
without  a  word.  Your  eldest  girl,  Angelina,  aged  ten, 
one  of  those  premature  little  grown  women  who  have 
learned  from  the  cradle  that  man  is  born  to  eat  pastry 
and  woman  to  make  it,  postponed  her  small  repast  till  an 
indefinite  future,  and  sat  meekly  ready  to  attend  upon  our 
wants.  Nathaniel,  a  thin  boy  of  eight,  also  partook  but 
slightly,  having  impaired  his  appetite,  his  mother  sus- 
pected, by  a  copious  luncheon  of  cold  baked  beans  and 
vinegar,  on  his  return  from  school.  The  two  youngest 
(twins)  had  relapsed  to  their  couches  soon  after  breakfast, 
in  consequence  of  excess  of  sausage. 

You  were  quite  agreeable  in  conversation,  I  remember, 
after  the  first  onset  of  appetite  was  checked.  You  gave 
me  your  whole  theory  of  the  indigo  crisis,  with  minute 
details,  statistical  and  geographical,  of  the  financial  condi- 
tion and  supposed  present  location  of  your  principal  ab- 
sconding debtors.  This  served  for  what  is  called,  at  public 
dinners,  the  intellectual  feast ;  while  the  carnal  appetite 
was  satisfied  with  fried  pork,  more  and  tougher  beefsteak, 
strong  coffee,  cucumbers,  potatoes,  and  a  good  deal  of 
gravy.  For  dessert,  (at  which  point  Nathaniel  regained 
his  appetite,)  we  had  mince-pie,  apple-pie,  and  lemon-pie, 
the  latter  being  a  structure  of  a  two-story  description,  an 
additional  staging  of  crust  being  somehow  inserted  be- 
tween upper  and  under.  "We  lingered  long  at  that  noon 
meal, — fifteen  minutes,  at  the  very  least ;  for  you  hospita- 
bly said  that  you  did  not  have  these  little  social  festivals 
very  often,  —  owing  to  frequent  illness  in  the  family,  and 
other  causes,  —  and  must  make  the  most  of  it. 

I  did  not  see  much  of  you  during  that  afternoon ;  it 
was  a  magnificent  day,  and  I  said,  that,  being  a  visitor,  I 


60  A   LETTER    TO  A   DYSPEPTIC. 

would  look  about  and  see  the  new  buildings.  The  truth 
was,  I  felt  a  sneaking  desire  to  witness  the  match-game 
on  the  Common,  between  the  Union  Base-Ball  Club,  No. 
1,  of  Ward  Eleven,  and  the  Excelsiors  of  Smithville.  I 
remember  that  you  looked  a  little  dissatisfied,  when  I 
came  into  the  counting-room,  and  rather  shook  your  head 
over  my  narrative  (perhaps  too  impassioned)  of  the  events 
of  the  game.  "  Those  young  fellows,"  said  you,  "  may 
not  all  be  shiftless,  dissipated  characters  yet,  —  but  see 
what  it  comes  to  !  They  a'n't  content  with  wasting  their 
time, — they  kill  it,  sir,  actually  kill  it ! "  When  I  thought 
of  the  manly  figures  and  handsome,  eager  faces  of  my 
friends  of  the  "  Union  "  and  the  "  Excelsior,"  —  the  Ex- 
celsiors won  by  ten  tallies,  I  should  say,  the  return  match 
to  come  off  at  Smithville  the  next  month,  —  and  then 
looked  at  the  meagre  form  and  wan  countenance  of  their 
critic,  I  thought  to  myself,  "  Dolorosus,  my  boy,  you  are 
killing  something  besides  Time,  if  you  only  knew  it" 

However,  indigo  had  risen  again,  and  your  spirits  also. 
As  we  walked  home,  you  gave  me  a  precise  exhibit  of 
your  income  and  expenditures  for  the  last  five  years,  and 
a  prospective  sketch  of  the  same  for  the  next  ten  ;  wind- 
ing up  with  an  incidental  delineation  of  the  importance, 
to  a  man  of  business,  of  a  good  pew  in  some  respectable 
place  of  worship.  We  found  Mrs.  D.,  as  usual,  ready  at 
the  table  ;  we  partook  of  pound-cake  (or  pound-and-a-half, 
I  should  say)  and  sundry  hot  cups  of  a  very  Cisatlantic 
beverage,  called  by  the  Chinese  epithet  of  tea,  —  and  went, 
immediately  after,  to  a  prayer-meeting.  The  church  or 
chapel  was  much  crowded,  and  there  was  a  certain  some- 
thing in  the  atmosphere  which  seemed  to  disqualify  my 
faculties  from  comprehending  a  single  word  that  was 
spoken.  It  certainly  was  not  that  the  ventilators  were 


A   LETTER    TO  A   DYSPEPTIC.  61 

dosed,  for  there  were  none.  The  minister  occasionally 
requested  that  the  windows  might  be  let  down  a  little,  and 
the  deacons  invariably  closed  them  again  when  he  looked 
the  other  way.  At  intervals,  females  were  carried  out, 
in  a  motionless  condition,  —  not,  as  it  appeared,  from  con- 
viction of  sin,  but  from  faintness.  You  sat,  absorbed  in 
thought,  with  your  eyes  closed,  and  seemed  not  to  observe 
them.  I  remember  that  you  were  very-  much  shocked 
when  I  suggested  that  the  breath  of  an  average  sinner 
exhausted  atmospheric  air  at  the  rate  of  a  hogshead  an 
hour,  and  asked  you  how  much  allowance  the  laws  of  the 
universe  made  for  the  lungs  of  church-members?  I  do 
not  recall  your  precise  words,  but  I  remember  that  I 
finally  found  it  expedient,  as  I  was  to  leave  for  home  in 
the  early  train,  to  spend  that  night  at  the  neighboring 
hotel,  where  I  indulged,  on  an  excellent  mattress,  in  a 
slumber  so  profound,  that  it  seemed  next  morning  as  if  I 
ought,  as  Dick  Swiveller  suggested  to  the  single  gentle- 
man, to  pay  for  a  double-bedded  room. 

Well,  that  is  all  over  now.  You  have  given  up  busi- 
ness, from  ill  health,  and  exhibit  a  ripe  old  age,  possibly  a 
little  over-ripe,  at  thirty-five.  Your  dreams  of  the  forth- 
coming ten  years  have  not  been  exactly  fulfilled ;  you 
have  not  precisely  retired  on  a  competency,  because  the 
competency  retired  from  you.  Indeed,  the  suddenness 
with  which  your  physician  compelled  you  to  close  up 
your  business  left  it  closed  rather  imperfectly,  so  that 
most  of  the  profits  are  found  to  have  leaked  out.  You 
are  economizing  rather  strictly,  just  now,  in  respect  lo 
everything  but  doctors'  bills.  The  maternal  Dolorosa  is 
hoarding  somewhere  in  the  country,  where  the  children 
certainly  will  not  have  more  indigestible  food  than  they 
had  at  home,  and  may  get  less  of  it  in  quantity,  —  to  say 


62  A  LETTER    TO  A  DYSPEPTIC. 

nothing  cf  more  air  and  exercise  to  aid  digestion.  They 
are  not,  however,  in  perfect  condition.  The  twins  are 
just  getting  up  from  scarlet  fever;  Nathaniel  has  been 
advised  to  leave  school  for  a  time ;  and  something  is 
thought  to  be  the  matter  with  Angelina's  back.  Mean- 
while, you  are  haunting  water-cures,  experimenting  on 
life-pills,  holding  private  conferences  with  medical  elec- 
tricians, and  thinking  of  a  trip  to  the  Bermudas. 

You  are  learning,  through  all  this,  the  sagest  maxims 
of  resignation,  and  trying  to  apply  them.  "  Life  is  hard, 
but  short,"  you  say ;  "  Providence  is  inscrutable ;  we 
must  submit  to  its  mysterious  decrees."  Would  it  not  be 
better,  my  dear  Dolorosus,  to  say  instead,  "  Life  is  noble 
and  immortal ;  God  is  good ;  we  must  obey,  his  plain 
laws,  or  accept  the  beneficent  penalties  "  ?  The  rise  and 
fall  of  health  are  no  more  accidental  than  the  rise  and  fall 
of  indigo ;  and  it  is  the  duty  of  those  concerned  in  either 
commodity  to  keep  their  eyes  open,  and  learn  the  busi- 
ness intelligently.  Of  the  three  proverbial  desiderata,  it 
is  as  easy  to  be  healthy  as  to  be  wealthy,  and  much  easier 
than  to  be  wise,  except  so  far  as  health  and  wisdom  mean 
the  same  thing.  After  health,  indeed,  the  other  necessa- 
ries of  life  are  very  simple,  and  easily  obtained ;  —  with 
moderate  desires,  regular  employment,  a  loving  home, 
correct  theology,  the  right  politics,  and  a  year's  subscrip- 
tion to  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly,"  I  have  no  doubt  that  life, 
in  this  planet,  may  be  as  happy  as  in  any  other  of  the 
solar  system,  not  excepting  Neptune  and  the  fifty-five 
asteroids. 

You  are  possibly  aware,  my  dear  Dolorosus,  —  for  I 
remember  that  you  were  destined  by  your  parents  for  the 
physician  of  your  native  seaside  village,  until  you  found  a 
more  congenial  avocation  in  curing  mackerel,  —  that  the 


A   LETTER   TO  A   DYSPEPTIC.  63 

ancient  medals  represented  the  goddess  Hygeia  with  a 
serpent  three  times  as  large  as  that  carried  by  JEscul*- 
pius,  to  denote  the  superiority  of  hygiene  to  medicine, 
prevention  to  cure.  To  seek  health  as  you  are  now 
seeking  it,  regarding  every  new  physician  as  if  he  were 
Pandora,  and  carried  hope  at  the  bottom  of  his  medicine- 
chest,  is  really  rather  unpromising.  This  perpetual  self- 
inspection  of  yours,  registering  your  pulse  thrice  a  day,  as 
if  it  were  a  thermometer  and  you  an  observer  for  the 
Smithsonian,  —  these  long  consultations  with  the  other 
patients  in  the  dreary  parlor  of  the  infirmary,  the  morn- 
ing devoted  to  debates  on  the  nervous  system,  the  after- 
noon to  meditations  on  the  stomach,  and  the  evening  to 
soliloquies  on  the  spine,  —  will  do  you  no  good.  The 
more  you  know,  under  these  circumstances,  the  worse  it 
will  be  for  you.  You  will  become  like  Boerhaave's  hypo- 
rhondriacal  student,  who,  after  every  lecture,  believed 
himself  to  be  the  victim  of  the  particular  disease  just 
expounded.  We  may  even  think  too  much  about  health, 
—  and  certainly  too  much  about  illness.  I  solemnly  be- 
lieve that  the  very  best  thing  that  could  be  done  for  you 
at  this  moment,  you  unfortunate  individual,  would  be  to 
buy  you  a  saddle-horse  and  a  revolver,  and  start  you  to- 
morrow for  the  Rocky  Mountains,  with  distinct  instruc- 
tions to  treat  any  man  as  a  Border  Ruffian  who  should 
venture  to  allude  to  the  subject  of  disease  in  your  pres- 
ence. 

But  I  cannot  venture  to  hope  that  you  will  do  anything 
so  reasonable.  The  fascinations  of  your  present  life  are 
too  overwhelming ;  when  an  invalid  once  begins  to  enjoy 
the  contemplation  of  his  own  woes,  as  you  appear  to  do, 
it  is  all  over  with  him.  Besides,  you  urge,  and  perhaps 
justly,  that  your  case  has  already  gone  too  far,  for  so 


64  A  LETTER   TO  A  DYSPEPTIC. 

rough  a  tonic.  What,  then,  can  I  do  for  you  ?  Medi- 
cine I  cannot  offer ;  for  even  your  respectable  family- 
physician  occasionally  hints  that  you  need  something  dif- 
ferent from  that,  I  suspect  that  all  rational  advice  for 
you  may  be  summed  up  in  one  prescription :  Reverse  in- 
stantly all  the  habits  of  your  previous  physical  existence, 
and  there  may  be  some  chance  for  you.  But  perhaps  I 
had  better  enter  more  into  detail. 

Do  not  think  that  I  am  going  to  recur  to  the  painful 
themes  of  doughnuts  and  diet.  I  fear  my  hints,  already 
given,  on  those  subjects,  may  wound  the  sensitive  nature 
of  Mrs.  D.,  who  suffers  now  such  utter  martyrdom  from 
your  condition  that  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  heap  further 
coals  of  fire  on  her  head,  even  though  the  coals  be  taken 
from  her  own  very  ineffectual  cooking-stove.  Let  me 
dwell  rather  on  points  where  you  have  exclusive  jurisdic- 
tion, and  can  live  wisely  or  foolishly,  at  your  pleasure. 

It  does  not  depend  on  you,  perhaps,  whether  you  shall 
eat  bread  or  saleratus,  meat  or  sole-leather ;  but  it  cer- 
tainly does  depend  upon  yourself  whether  you  shall  wash 
yourself  daily.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  personal,  but  I  verily 
believe,  O  companion  of  my  childhood!  that,  until  you 
began  to  dabble  in  Hydropathy,  you  had  not  bestowed  a 
sincere  ablution  upon  your  entire  person  since  the  epoch 
when,  twenty  years  ago,  we  took  our  last  plunge  together, 
off  Titcomb's  wharf,  in  our  native  village.  That  in  your 
well-furnished  house  there  are  no  hydraulic  privileges  be- 
yond pint  water-pitchers,  I  know  from  anxious  personal 
inspection.  I  know  .that  you  have  spent  an  occasional 
week  at  the  sea-shore  during  the  summer,  and  that  many 
people  prefer  to  do  up  their  cleanliness  for  the  year  dur- 
ing these  excursions;  indeed,  you  yourself  have  mentioned 
to  me,  at  such  times,  with  some  enthusiasm,  your  daily  sea- 


A   LETTER    TO  A   DYSPEPTW.  65 

bath.  But  I  have  been  privately  assured,  by  the  other 
boarders,  that  the  bath  in  question  always  consisted  of 
putting  on  a  neat  bathing-dress  and  sitting  awhile  on  a 
rock  among  the  sea-weed,  like  an  insane  merman,  with 
the  highest  waves  submerging  only  your  knees,  while  the 
younger  Dolorosi  splashed  and  gambolled  in  safe  shallows 
behind  you.  Even  that  is  better  than  nothing,  but  — 
Soul  of  Mohammed  !  —  is  that  called  bathing  ?  Verily, 
we  are,  as  the  Turks  declare,  a  nation  of  "  dirty  Franks," 
if  this  be  the  accepted  definition. 

Can  it  be  possible  that  you  really  hold  with  the  once- 
celebrated  Mr.  Walker,  "  The  Original,"  as  he  was  de- 
servedly called,  who  maintained  that,  by  a  correct  diet, 
he  system  became  self-purifying,  through  an  active  exha- 
lation which  repelled  impurity,  —  so  that,  while  walking 
on  dusty  roads,  his  feet,  and  even  his  stockings,  remained 
free  from  dust  ?  "  By  way  of  experiment,  I  did  not  wash 
my  face  for  a  week  ;  nor  did  any  one  see,  nor  I  feel,  the 
difference."  My  deluded  friend,  it  is  a  fatal  error.  Mr. 
Walker,  the  Original,  may  have  been  inwardly  a  saint 
and  a  sage,  but  it  is  impossible  that-  his  familiar  society 
could  have  been  desirable,  even  to  fools  or  sinners. 
Rather  recall,  from  your  early  explorations  in  Lem- 
priere's  Dictionary,  how  Medea  renewed  the  youth  of 
Pelias  by  simply  cutting  him  to  pieces  and  boiling  him  ; 
whereon  my  Lord  Bacon  justly  remarks,  that  "  there  may 
be  some  boiling  required  in  the  matter,  but  the  cutting  to 
pieces  is  not  needful."  If  you  find  that  the  water-cure 
agrees  with  your  constitution,  I  rejoice  in  it ;  I  should 
think  it  would ;  but,  I  implore  you,  do  not  leave  it  all 
behind  you  when  you  leave  the  institution.  When  you 
return  to  your  family,  use  your  very  first  dollars  for  buy- 
ing a  sponge  and  a  tin-hat,  for  each  member  of  the 


66  A  LETTER    TO  A   DYSPEPTIC. 

household ;   and   bring  up  the   children   to  lead   decent 
lives. 

Then,  again,  consider  the  fact  that  our  lungs  were  cre- 
ated to  consume  oxygen.  I  suppose  that  never  in  your 
life,  Dolorosus,  did  those  breathing  organs  of  yours  inhale 
more  than  one  half  the  quantity  of  air  that  they  were  in- 
tended to  take  in,  —  to  say  nothing  of  its  quality.  Yet 
one  would  think,  that,  in  the  present  high  prices  of  food, 
you  would  make  the  most  of  the  only  thing  you  can  put 
into  your  mouth  gratis.  Here  is  Nature  constantly  urg- 
ing on  us  an  unexceptionable  atmosphere  forty  miles  high, 
—  for  if  a  pressure  of  fourteen  pounds  to  the  square  inch 
is  not  to  be  called  urging,  what  is  ?  —  and  yet  we  not  only 
neglect,  but  resist  the  favor.  Our  children  co'mmonly 
learn  to  spell  much  better  than  they  ever  learn  to  breathe, 
because  much  more  attention  is  paid  to  the  former  depart- 
ment of  culture.  Indeed,  the  materials  are  better  pro- 
vided ;  spelling-books  are  abundant  ;  but  we  scarcely 
allow  them  time,  in  the  intervals  of  school,  to  seek  fresh 
air  out  of  doors,  and  we  sedulously  exclude  it  from  our 
houses  and  school-rooms.  Is  it  not  possible  to  impress 
upon  your  mind  the  changes  which  "  modern  improve- 
ments "  are  bringing  upon  us  ?  In  times  past,  if  a  gen- 
tleman finished  the  evening  with  a  quiet  cigar  in  his 
parlor,  (a  practice  I  deprecate,  and  introduce  only  for 
purposes  of  scientific  illustration,)  not  a  trace  of  it  ever 
lingered  to  annoy  his  wife  at  the  breakfast-table  ;  showing 
that  the  draft  up  the  open  chimney  had  wholly  disposed 
of  it,  the  entire  atmosphere  of  the  room  having  been 
changed  during  the  night.  Now,  on  the  other  hand, 
every  whiff  lingers  persistently  beside  the  domestic  altar, 
and  betrays  to  the  youngest  child,  next  day,  the  parental 
weakness.  For  the  sake  of  family  example,  Dolorosus, 


A   LETTER    TO  A   DYSPEPTIC.  67 

correct  this  state  of  things,  and  put  in  a  ventilator.  Our 
natures  will  not  adapt  themselves  to  this  abstinence  from 
fresh  air,  until  Providence  shall  fit  us  up  with  new  bodies, 
having  no  lungs  in  them.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  Dr.  Lyne, 
the  eccentric  Irish  physician  ?  Dr.  Lyne  held  that  no 
house  was  wholesome,  unless  a  dog  could  get  in  under 
every  door  and  a  bird  fly  out  at  every  window.  He  even 
went  so  far  as  to  build  his  house  with  the  usual  number 
of  windows,  and  no  glass  in  the  sashes ;  he  lived  in  that 
house  for  fifty  years,  reared  a  large  family  there,  and  no 
death  ever  occurred  in  it.  He  himself  died  away  from 
home,  of  small-pox,  at  eighty  ;  his  son  immediately  glazed 
all  the  windows  of  the  house,  and  several  of  the  family 
died  within  the  first  year  of  the  alteration.  The  story 
sounds  apocryphal,  T  own.  though  I  d<d  not  get  it  from 
Sir  Jonah  Barrington,  but  somewhere  in  the  scarcely  less 
amusing  pages  of  Sir  John  Sinclair.  I  will  not  advise 
you,  my  unfortunate  sufferer,  to  break  every  pane  of  glass 
in  your  domicile,  though  T  have  no  doubt  that  Nathaniel 
and  his  boy-companions  would  enter  with  enthusiasm  into 
the  process;  I  am  not  fond  of  extremes;  but  you  certainly 
might  go  so  far  as  to  take  the  nails  out  of  my  bedroom 
windows,  and  yet  keep  a  good  deal  this  side  the  Lyne. 

I  hardly  dare  go  on  to  speak  of  exercise,  lest  I  should 
share  the  reproach  of  that  ancient  rhetorician  who,  —  as 
related  by  Plutarch,  in  his  Aphorisms,  —  after  delivering 
an  oration  in  praise  of  Hercules,  was  startled  by  the 
satirical  inquiry  from  his  audience,  whether  any  one  had 
ever  dispraised  Hercules.  As  with  Hercules,  so  with  the 
physical  activity  he  represents,  —  no  one  dispraises,  if 
few  practise  it.  Even  the  disagreement  of  doctors  has 
brought  out  but  little  scepticism  on  this  point.  Cardan, 
it  is  true,  in  his  treatise,  "  Plantae  cur  Animalibus  diu- 


68  A   LETTER    TO  A   DYSPEPTIC. 

turniores,"  maintained  that  trees  lived  longer  than  men 
because  they  never  stirred  from  their  places.  Exercise, 
he  held,  increases  transpiration ;  transpiration  shortens 
life ;  to  live  long,  then,  we  need  only  remain  perfectly 
stilL  Lord  Bacon  fell  in  with  this  fancy,  and  advised 
"  oily  unctions,"  to  prevent  perspiration.  Maupertuis 
went  farther,  and  proposed  to  keep  the  body  covered 
with  pitch  for  this  purpose:  conceive,  Dolorosus,  of 
spending  threescore  years  and  ten  in  a  garment  of  tar, 
without  even  the  ornament  of  feathers,  sitting  tranquilly 
in  our  chairs,  waiting  for  longevity !  In  more  recent 
times,  I  can  remember  only  Dr.  Darwin  as  an  advocate 
of  sedentary  living.  He  attempted  to  show  its  advan- 
tages by  the  healthy  longevity  attained  by  quiet  old  ladies 
in  country-towns.  But  this  is  questioned  by  his  critic, 
Dr.  Beddoes,  who  admits  the  longevity,  but  denies  the 
healthiness ;  he  maintains  that  the  old  ladies  are  taking 
some  new  medicine  every  day,  —  at  least,  if  they  have  a 
physician  who  understands  his  business. 

Now  I  will  not  maintain,  with  Frederick  the  Great, 
that  all  our  systems  of  education  are  wrong,  because  they 
aim  to  make  men  students  or  clerks,  whereas  the  mere 
shape  of  the  body  shows  (so  thought  King  Frederick) 
that  we  are  primarily  designed  for  postilions,  and  should 
spend  most  of  our  lives  on  horseback.  But  it  is  very 
certain  that  all  the  physical  universe  takes  the  side  of 
health  and  activity,  wooing  us  forth  into  Nature,  implor- 
ing us  hourly,  and  in  unsuspected  ways,  to  receive  her 
blessed  breath  into  body  and  soul,  and  share  in  her  eter- 
nal ycath.  For  this  are  summer  and  winter,  seed-time 
and  harvest,  given ;  for  this  do  violet  and  bloodroot  come, 
and  gentian  and  witch-hazel  go ;  for  this  do  changing 
sunsets  make  yon  path  between  the  pines  a  gateway  into 


A   LETTER   TO  A   DYSPEPTIC.  69 

teav  en ;  for  this  does  day  shut  us  down  within  the  loneli- 
ness of  its  dome  of  light,  and  night,  lifting  it,  make  us 
free  of  the  vast  fellowship  of  stars ;  for  this  do  pale 
meteors  wander  nightly,  soft  as  wind-blown  blossoms, 
down  the  air;  for  this  do  silent  snows  transform  the 
winter  woods  to  feathery  things,  that  seem  too  light  to 
linger,  and  yet  too  vast  to  take  their  flight ;  for  this  does 
all  the  fair  creation  answer  to  every  dream  or  mood  of 
man,  so  that  we  receive  but  what  we  give ;  —  all  is  of- 
fered to  us,  to  call  us  from  our  books  and  our  trade,  and 
summon  us  into  Nature's  health  and  joy.  To  study,  with 
the  artist,  the  least  of  her  beauties,  —  to  explore,  with  the 
man  of  science,  the  smallest  of  her  wonders,  —  or  even 
simply  to  wander  among  her  exhaustless  resources,  like  a 
child,  needing  no  interest  unborrowed  from  the  eye,  — 
this  feeds  body  and  brain  and  heart  and  soul  together. 

But  I  see  that  your  attention  is  wandering  a  h'ttle,  Do- 
lorosu:?,  and  perhaps  I  ought  not  to  be  surprised.  I  think 
I  hear  you  respond,  impatiently,  in  general  terms,  that 
you  are  not  "  sentimental."  I  admit  it ;  never  within 
my  memory  did  you  err  on  that  side.  You  also  hint  that 
you  never  did  care  much  about  weeds  or  bugs.  The 
phrases  are  not  scientific,  but  the  opinion  is  intelligible. 
Perhaps  my  ardor  has  carried  me  too  fast  for  my  audi- 
ence. While  it  would  be  a  pleasure,  no  doubt,  to  see  you 
transformed  into  an  artist  or  a  savant,  yet  that  is  scarcely 
to  be  expected,  and,  if  attained,  might  not  be  quite 
enough.  The  studies  of  the  naturalist,  exclusively  pur- 
sued, may  tend  to  make  a  man  too  conscious  and  critical, 
—  patronizing  Nature,  instead  of  enjoying  her.  He 
may  even  grow  morbidly  sensitive,  like  Buffon,  who  be' 
came  so  impressed  with  the  delicacy  and  mystery  of  the 
human  organization,  that  he  was  afraid  to  stoop  even  to 


70  A   LETTER   TO  A   DYSPEPTIC. 

pick  up  his  own  pen,  when  dropped,  but  called  a  servant 
to  restore  it.  The  artist,  also,  becomes  often  narrowed 
and  petty,  and  regards  the  universe  as  a  sort  of  factory, 
arranged  to  turn  out  good  bits  of  color  for  him.  Some- 
thing is  needed  to  make  us  more  free  and  unconscious,  in 
our  out-door  lives,  than  these  too  wise  individuals ;  and 
that  something  is  best  to  be  found  in  athletic  sports.  It 
was  a  genuine  impulse  which  led  Sir  Humphrey  Davy  to 
care  more  for  fishing  than  even  for  chemistry,  and  made 
Byron  prouder  of  his  swimming  than  of  "  Childe  Harold," 
and  induced  Sir  Robert  Walpole  always  to  open  his 
gamekeeper's  letters  first,  and  his  diplomatic  correspond- 
ence afterwards.  Athletic  sports  are  "  boyish,"  are 
they  ?  Then  they  are  precisely  what  we  want  We 
Americans  certainly  do  not  have  much  boyhood  under 
the  age  of  twenty,  and  we  must  take  it  afterwards  or  not 
at  all. 

Who  can  describe  the  unspeakable  refreshment  for  an 
overworked  brain,  of  laying  aside  all  cares,  and  surren- 
dering one's  self  to  simple  bodily  activity  ?  Laying  them 
aside !  I  retract  the  expression  ;  they  slip  off  unnoticed. 
You  cannot  embark  care  in  your  wherry  ;  there  is  no 
room  for  the  odious  freight.  Care  refuses  to  sit  behind 
the  horseman,  despite  the  Latin  sentence ;  you  leave  it 
among  your  garments  when  you  plunge  into  the  river,  it 
rolls  away  from  the  rolling  cricket-ball,  the  first  whirl  in 
the  gymnasium  disposes  of  it,  and  you  are  left  free,  as 
boys  and  birds  are  free.  If  athletic  amusements  did 
nothing  for  the  body,  they  would  still  be  medicine  for  the 
soul.  Nay,  it  is  Plato  who  says  that  exercise  will  almost 
cure  a  guilty  conscience,  —  and  can  we  be  indifferent  to 
this,  my  fellow-sinner  ? 

Why   will   you    persist   in   urging   that   you  "cannot 


A   LETTER   TO  A   DYSPEPTIC.  71 

afford  "  these  indulgences,  as  you  call  them  ?  They  are 
not  indulgences,  —  they  are  necessaries.  Charge  them, 
in  your  private  account-book,  under  the  heads  of  food 
and  clothing,  and  as  a  substitute  for  your  present  enor- 
mous items  under  the  head  of  medicine.  O  mistaken 
economist  I  can  you  afford  the  cessation  of  labor  and  the 
ceaseless  drugging  and  douching  of  your  last  few  years  ? 
Did  not  all  your  large  experience  in  the  retail  business 
teach  you  the  comparative  value  of  the  ounce  of  preven- 
tion and  the  pound  of  cure  ?  Are  not  fresh  air  and  cold 
water  to  be  had  cheap  ?  and  is  not  good  bread  less  costly 
than  cake  and  pies  ?  Is  not  the  gymnasium  a  more 
economical  institution  than  the  hospital  ?  and  is  not  a  pair 
of  skates  a  good  investment,  if  it  aids  you  to  elude  the 
grasp  of  the  apothecary  ?  Is  the  cow  Pepsin,  on  the 
whole,  a  more  frugal  hobby  to  ride  than  a  good  saddle- 
horse  ?  Besides,  if  you  insist  upon  pecuniary  economy, 
do  begin  by  economizing  on  the  exercise  which  you  pay 
others  for  taking  in  your  stead,  —  on  the  corn  and  pears 
which  you  buy  in  the  market,  instead  of  removing  to  a 
suburban  house  and  raising  them  yourself,  —  and  in  the 
reluctant  silver  you  pay  the  Irishman  who  splits  your 
wood.  Or  if,  suddenly  reversing  your  line  of  argument, 
you  plead  that  this  would  impoverish  the  Irishman,  you 
can  at  least  treat  him  as  you  do  the  organ-grinder,  and 
pay  him  an  extra  fee  to  go  on  to  your  next  neighbor. 

Dolorosus,  there  is  something  very  noble,  if  you  could 
but  discover  it,  in  a  perfect  human  body.  In  spite  of  all 
our  bemoaning,  the  physical  structure  of  man  displays 
its  due  power  and  beauty  when  we  consent  to  give  it  a 
fair  chance.  On  the  cheek  of  every  healthy  child  that 
plays  in  the  street,  though  clouded  by  all  the  dirt  that 
ever  incrusted  a  young  O'Brien  or  M'Cafferty.  there  is  a 


A   LETTER   TO  A   DYSPEPTIC. 

of  color  such  as  no  artist  ever  painted.  I  can  take 
you  to-morrow  .into  a  circus  or  a  gymnasium,  and  show 
you  limbs  and  attitudes  which  are  worth  more  study  than 
the  Apollo  or  the  Antinous,  because  they  are  life,  not 
marble.  How  noble  were  Horatio  Greenough's  medi- 
tations, in  presence  of  the  despised  circus-rider !  "  I 
worship,  when  I  see  this  brittle  form  borne  at  full  speed 
on  the  back  of  a  fiery  horse,  yet  dancing  as  on  the  quiet 
ground,  and  smiling  in  conscious  safety." 

I  admit  that  this  view,  like  every  other,  may  be  carried 
to  excess.  We  can  hardly  expect  to  correct  our  past 
neglect  of  bodily  training,  without  falling  into  reactions 
and  extremes  in  the  process.  There  is  our  friend  Jones, 
for  instance, "  the  Englishman,"  as  the  boys  on  the  Common 
call  him,  from  his  cheery  portliness  of  aspect.  He  is  the 
man  who  insisted  on  keeping  the  telegraph-office  open 
until  2  A.  M.,  to  hear  whether  Morrissey  or  the  Benicia 
Boy  won  the  prize-fight.  I  cannot  say  much  for  his  per- 
sonal conformity  to  his  own  theories  at  present,  for  he  is 
growing  rather  too  stout ;  but  he  likes  vicarious  exercise, 
and  is  doing  something  for  the  next  generation,  even  if 
he  does  make  the  club  laugh,  sometimes,  by  advancing 
theories  of  training  which  the  lower  circumference  of  his 
own  waistcoat  does  not  seem  to  justify.  But  Charley, 
his  eldest,  can  ride,  shoot,  and  speak  the  truth,  like  an 
ancient  Persian ;  he  is  the  best  boxer  in  college,  and  is 
now  known  to  have  gone  to  Canada  incog.,  during  the 
vacation,  under  the  immediate  supervision  of  Morris,  the 
teacher  of  sparring,  to  see  that  same  fight.  It  is  true 
that  the  youth  blushes,  now,  whenever  that  trip  is  alluded 
to ;  and  when  he  was  cross-questioned  by  his  pet  sister 
Kate,  (Kate  Coventry  she  delights  to  be  called,)  as  to 
whether  it  was  n't  "  splendid,"  he  hastily  told  her  that 


A   LETTER    TO  A   DYSPEPTIC.  73 

she  did  n't  know  what  she  was  talking  about,  (which  was 
undoubtedly  true,)  —  and  that  he  wished  he  did  n't, 
either.  The  truth  is,  that  Charley,  with  his  honest, 
boyish  face,  must  have  been  singularly  out  of  place 
among  that  brutal  circle ;  and  there  is  little  doubt  that 
he  retired  from  the  company  before  the  set-to  was  fairly 
begun,  and  that  respectable  old  Morris  went  with  him. 
But,  at  any  rate,  they  are  a  noble-looking  family,  and 
well  brought  up.  Charley,  with  all  his  pugilism,  stands 
fair  for  a  part  at  Commencement,  they  say ;  and  if 
you  could  have  seen  little  Kate  teaching  her  big  cou- 
sin to  skate  backwards,  at  Jamaica  Pond,  last  Febru- 
ary, it  would  have  reminded  you  of  the  pretty  scene 
of  the  little  cadet  attitudinizing  before  the  great  Formes, 
in  "  Figaro."  The  whole  family  incline  in  the  same 
direction  ;  even  Laura,  the  elder  sister,  who  is  attending 
a  course  of  lectures  on  Hygiene,  and  just  at  pres- 
ent sits  motionless  for  half  an  hour  before  every  meal 
for  her  stomach's  sake,  and  again  a  whole  hour  after- 
wards for  her  often  (imaginary)  infirmities,  —  even  Laura 
is  a  perfect  Hebe  in  health  and  bloom,  and  saved  herself 
and  her  little  sister  when  the  boat  upset,  last  summer,  at 
Dove  Harbor,  —  while  the  two  young  men  who  were 
with  them  had  much  ado  to  secure  their  own  elegant  per- 
sons, without  rendering  much  aid  to  the  girls.  And  when 
I  think,  Dolorosus,  of  this  splendid  animal  vigor  of  the 
race  of  Jones,  and  then  call  to  mind  the  melancholy 
countenances  of  your  forlorn  little  offspring,  I  really 
think  that  it  would,  on  the  whole,  be  unsafe  to  trust  you 
with  that  revolver;  you  might  be  tempted  to  damage 
yourself  or  somebody  else  with  it,  before  departing  for 
the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Do  not  think  me  heartless  for  what  I  say,  or  assume 

4 


74  A   LETTER   TO  A   DYSPEPTIC. 

that,  because  I  happen  to  be  healthy  myself,  I  have  no 
mercy  for  ill-health  in  others.  There  are  invalids  who 
are  objects  of  sympathy  indeed,  guiltless  heirs  of  ances- 
tral disease,  or  victims  of  parental  folly  or  sin,  —  those 
whose  lives  are  early  blighted  by  maladies  that  seem  as 
causeless  as  they  are  cureless,  —  or  those  with  whom  the 
world  has  dealt  so  cruelly  that  all  their  delicate  nature  is 
like  sweet  bells  jangled,  —  or  those  whose  powers  of  life 
are  all  exhausted  by  unnoticed  labors  and  unseen  cares,  — 
or  those  prematurely  old  with  duties  and  dangers,  heroes 
of  thought  and  action,  whose  very  names  evoke  the  passion 
and  the  pride  of  a  hundred  thousand  hearts.  There  is  a 
tottering  feebleness  of  old  age,  also,  nobler  than  any 
prime  of  strength  ;  we  all  know  aged  men  who  are  float- 
ing on,  in  stately  serenity,  towards  their  last  harbor,  like 
Turner's  Old  Teme'raire,  with  quiet  tides  around  them, 
and  the  blessed  sunset  bathing  in  loveliness  all  their 
dying  day.  Let  human  love  do  its  gracious  work  upon 
all  these ;  let  angelic  hands  of  women  wait  upon  their 
lightest  needs,  and  every  voice  of  salutation  be  tuned 
to  such  a  sweetness  as  if  it  whispered  beside  a  dying 
mother's  bed. 

But  you,  Dolorosus,  —  you,  to  whom  God  gave  youth 
and  health,  and  who  might  have  kept  them,  the  one  long 
and  the  other  perchance  always,  but  who  never  loved 
them,  nor  reverenced  them,  nor  cherished  them,  only 
coined  them  into  money  till  they  were  all  gone,  and  even 
the  ill-gotten  treasure  fell  from  your  debilitated  hands,  — 
you,  who  shunned  the  sunshine  as  if  it  were  sin,  and 
called  all  innocent  recreation  time  wasted,  —  you,  who 
stayed  under  ground  in  your  gold-mine,  like  the  sightless 
fishes  of  the  Mammoth  Cave,  till  you  were  as  blind  and 
unjoyous  as  they,  —  what  plea  have  you  to  make,  what 


A  LETTER   TO  A   DYSPEPTIC.  7,5 

shelter  to  claim,  except  that  charity  which  suffereth  long 
and  is  kind?  We  will  strive  not  to  withhold  it;  while 
there  is  life,  there  is  hope.  At  forty,  it  is  said,  every 
man  is  a  fool  or  a  physician.  We  will  wait  and  see  which 
vocation  you  select  as  your  own,  for  the  broken  remnant 
of  your  days. 


THE 


MURDER  OF  THE   INNOCENTS. 


A   SECOND    EPISTLE    TO    DOLOROSUS 


THE    MURDER  OF    THE    INNOCENTS. 


SO  you  are  already  mending,  my  dear  fellow  ?  Can 
it  be  that  my  modest  epistle  has  done  so  much  ser- 
vice ?  Are  you  like  those  invalids  in  Central  Africa, 
•who,  when  the  medicine  itself  is  not  accessible,  straight- 
way swallow  the  written  prescription  as  a  substitute, 
inwardly  digest  it,  and  recover?  No,  —  I  think  you 
have  tested  the  actual  materia  medico,  recommended.  I 
hear  of  you  from  all  directions,  walking  up  hills  in  the 
mornings  and  down  hills  in  the  afternoons,  skimming 
round  in  wherries  like  a  rather  unsteady  water-spider, 
blistering  your  hands  upon  gymnastic  bars,  receiving 
severe  contusions  on  your  nose  from  cricket-balls,  shaking 
up  and  down  on  hard  trotting-horses,  and  making  the 
most  startling  innovations  in  respect  to  eating,  sleeping, 
and  bathing.  Like  all  our  countrymen,  you  are  plunging 
from  one  extreme  to  the  other.  Undoubtedly,  you  will 
soon  make  yourself  sick  again  ;  but  your  present  extreme 
is  the  safer  of  the  two.  Time  works  many  miracles  ;  it 
has  made  Louis  Napoleon  espouse  the  cause  of  liberty, 
and  it  may  yet  make  you  reasonable. 

After  all,  that  advice  of  mine,  which  is  thought  to  have 
benefited  you  so  greatly,  was  simply  that  which  Dr. 
Abernethy  used  to  give  his  patients  :  "  Don't  come  to  me, 


80       THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

—  go  buy  a  skipping-rope."  If  you  can  only  guard 
against  excesses,  and  keep  the  skipping-rope  in  operation, 
there  are  yet  hopes  for  you.  Only  remember  that  it  is 
equally  important  to  preserve  health  as  to  attain  it,  and 
it  needs  much  the  same  regimen.  Do  not  be  like  that 
Lord  Russell  in  S pence's  Anecdotes,  who  only  went  hunt- 
ing for  the  sake  of  an  appetite,  and  who,  the  moment  he 
felt  any  sensation  of  vitality  in  the  epigastrium,  used  to 
turn  short  round,  exclaiming,  "  I  have  found  it ! "  and 
ride  home  from  the  finest  chase.  It  was  the  same  Lord 
Russell,  by  the  way,  who,  when  he  met  a  beggar  and  was 
implored  to  give  him  something,  because  he  was  almost 
famished  with  hunger,  called  him  a  happy  dog,  and  envied 
him  too  much  to  relieve  him.  From  some  recent  remarks 
of  your  boarding-house  hostess,  my  friend,  I  am  led  to 
suppose  that  you  are  now  almost  as  well  off,  in  point  of 
appetite,  as  if  you  were  a  beggar ;  and  I  wish  to  keep 
you  so. 

How  much  the  spirits  rise  with  health  !  A  family  of 
children  is  a  very  different  sight  to  a  healthy  man  and  to 
a  dyspeptic.  What  pleasure  you  now  take  in  yours ! 
You  are  going  to  live  more  in  their  manner  and  for  their 
sakes,  henceforward,  yon  tell  me.  You  are  to  enter  upon 
business  again,  but  in  a  more  moderate  way ;  you  are  to 
live  in  a  pleasant  little  suburban  cottage,  with  fresh  air,  a 
horse-railroad,  and  good  schools.  For  I  am  not  surprised 
to  find  that  your  interest  in  your  offspring,  like  that  cf 
most  American  parents,  culminates  in  the  school-room. 
This  important  matter  you  have  neglected  long  enough, 
you  think,  while  you  were  foolishly  absorbed  in  making 
money  for  them.  Now  they  shall  have  money  enough, 
to  be  sure,  but  wisdom  in  superabundance.  Angelina 
shall  walk  in  silk  attire,  and  knowledge  have  to  spare. 


THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS.       81 

To  which  school  shall  you  send  her  ?  you  ask  me,  with 
something  of  the  old  careworn  expression,  pulling  six 
different  prospectuses  from  your  pocket.  Put  them  away, 
Dolorosus  ;  I  know  the  needs  of  Angelina,  and  I  can  an- 
swer instantly.  Send  vhe  girl,  for  the  present  at  least,  to 
that  school  whose  daily  hours  of  session  are  the  shortest, 
and  whose  recess-times  and  vacations  are  of  the  most 
formidable  length. 

No,  anxious  parent,  I  am  not  joking.  I  am  more  anx- 
ious for  your  children  than  you  are.  On  the  faith  of  an 
ex-teacher  and  ex-school-committee-man,  —  for  what  re- 
spectable middle-aged  American  man  but  has  passed 
through  both  these  spheres  of  uncomfortable  usefulness  ? 
—  I  am  terribly  in  earnest.  Upon  this  implied  thesis,  — 
that  the  merit  of  an  American  school,  at  least  so  far  as 
Angelina  is  concerned,  is  in  inverse  ratio  to  the  time 
given  to  study,  —  I  will  lay  down  incontrovertible  rea- 
sonings. 

Sir  Walter  Scott,  according  to  Carlyle,  was  the  only 
perfectly  healthy  literary  man  who  ever  lived,  —  in  fact, 
the  one  suitable  text,  he  says,  for  a  sermon  on  health. 
You  may  wonder,  Dolorosus,  what  Sir  Walter  Scott  has 
to  do  with  Angelina,  except  to  supply  her  with  novel- 
reading,  and  with  passages  for  impassioned  recitation,  at 
the  twilight  hour,  from  "  The  Lady  of  the  Lake."  But 
that  same  Scott  has  left  one  remark  on  record  which  may 
yet  save  the  lives  and  reasons  of  greater  men  than  him- 
self, more  gifted  women  (if  that  were  possible)  than  An- 
gelina, if  we  can  only  accept  it  with  the  deference  to 
which  that  same  healthiness  of  his  entitles  it.  He  gave 
it  as  his  deliberate  opinion,  in  conversation  with  Basil 
Hall,  that  five  and  a  half  hours  form  the  limit  of  healthful 
mental  labor  for  a  mature  person.  "  This  I  reckon  very 
4*  F 


82       THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

good  work  for  a  man,"  he  said,  —  adding,  "  I  can  very 
seldom  reach  six  hours  a  day  ;  and  I  reckon  that  what  is 
written  after  five  or  six  hours'  hard  mental  labor  is  not 
good  for  much."  This  he  said  in  the  fulness  of  his  mag- 
nificent strength,  and  when  he  was  producing,  with  as- 
tounding rapidity,  those  pages  of  delight  over  which  every 
new  generation  still  hangs  enchanted. 

He  did  not  mean,  of  course,  that  this  was  the  maximum 
of  possible  mental  labor,  but  only  of  vise  and  desirable 
labor.  In  later  life,  driven  by  terrible  pecuniary  anxi- 
eties, he  himself  worked  more  than  this.  Southey,  his 
contemporary,  worked  far  harder,  —  writing,  in  1814,  "I 
cannot  get  through  more  than  at  present,  unless  I  give 
up  sleep,  or  the  little  exercise  I  take  (walking  a  mile  and 
back,  after  breakfast)  ;  and,  that  hour  excepted,  and  my 
meals,  (barely  the  meal?,  for  I  remain  not  one  minute 
after  them,)  the  pen  or  the  book  is  always  in  my  hand." 
Our  own  time  and  country  afford  a  yet  more  astonishing 
instance.  Theodore  Parker,  to  my  certain  knowledge, 
has  often  spent  in  his  study  from  twelve  to  seventeen 
hours  daily,  for  weeks  together.  But  the  result  in  all 
these  cases  has  sadly  proved  the  supremacy  of  the  laws 
which  were  defied  ;  and  the  nobler  the  victim,  the  more 
tremendous  the  warning  retribution. 

Let  us  return,  then,  from  the  practice  of  Scott's  ruined 
days  to  the  principles  of  his  sound  ones.  Supposing  his 
estimate  to  be  correct,  and  five  and  a  half  hours  to  be  a 
reasonable  limit  for  the  day's  work  of  a  mature  intellect, 
it  is  evident  that  even  this  must  be  altogether  too  much 
for  an  immature  one.  "  To  suppose  the  youthful  brainv" 
says  the  recent  admirable  report,  by  Dr.  Ray,  of  the 
Providence  Insane  Hospital,  "  to  be  capable  of  an  amount 
of  work  which  is  considered  an  ample  allowance  to  an 


THE  MURDER   OF   THE  INNOCENTS.       83 

adult  brain,  is  simply  absurd,  and  the  attempt  to  carry 
this  fully  into  effect  must  necessarily  be  dangerous  to  the 
health  and  efficacy  of  the  organ."  It  would  be  wrong, 
therefore,  to  deduct  less  than  a  half-hour  from  Scott's 
estimate,  for  even  the  oldest  pupils  in  our  highest  schools ; 
leaving  five  hours  as  the  limit  of  real  mental  effort  for 
them,  and  reducing  this,  for  all  younger  pupils,  Tery 
much  farther. 

It  is  vain  to  suggest,  at  this  point,  that  the  application 
of  Scott's  estimate  is  not  fair,  because  the  mental  labor 
of  our  schools  is  different  in  quality  from  his,  and  there- 
fore less  exhausting.  It  differs  only  in  being  more 
exhausting.  To  the  robust  and  affluent  mind  of  the 
novelist,  composition  was  not,  of  itself,  exceedingly  fa- 
tiguing ;  we  know  this  from  his  own  testimony ;  he  was 
able,  moreover,  to  select  his  own  subject,  keep  his  own 
hours,  and  arrange  all  his  own  conditions  of  labor.  And 
on  the  other  hand,  when  we  consider  what  energy  and 
genius  have  for  years  been  T  rought  to  bear  upon  the  per- 
fecting of  our  educational  methods,  —  how  thoroughly 
our  best  schools  are  now  graded  and  systematized,  until 
each  day's  lessons  become  a  Procrustes-bed  to  which  all 
must  fit  themselves,  —  how  stimulating  the  apparatus  of 
prizes  and  applauses,  how  crushing  the  penalties  of  re- 
proof and  degradation,  —  when  we  reflect,  that  it  is  the 
ideal  of  every  school  to  concentrate  the  whole  faculties 
of  every  scholar  upon  each  lesson  and  each  recitation 
from  beginning  to  end,  and  that  anything  short  of  this  is 
considered  partial  failure,  —  it  is  not  exaggeration  to  say, 
that  the  daily  tension  of  brain  demanded  of  children  in 
our  best  schools  is  altogether  severer  than  that  upon 
which  Scott  based  his  estimate.  But  Scott  is  not  the 
only  authority  in  the  case ;  let  us  ask  the  physiologists. 


84       THE  MURDER   OF   THE  INNOCENTS. 

So  said  Horace  Mann,  before  us,  in  the  days  when  the 
Massachusetts  school  system  was  in  process  of  formation. 
He  asked  the  physiologists,  in  1840,  and  in  his  next  Re- 
port printed  the  answers  of  three  of  the  most  eminent. 
The  late  Dr.  Woodward,  of  "Worcester,  promptly  said, 
that  children  under  eight  should  never  be  confined  more 
than  one  hour  at  a  time,  nor  more  than  four  hours  a  day ; 
and  that,  if  any  child  showed  alarming  symptoms  of  pre- 
cocity, it  should  be  taken  from  school  altogether.  Dr. 
James  Jackson,  of  Boston,  allowed  the  children  four  hours' 
schooling  in  winter  and  five  in  summer,  but  only  one  hour 
at  a  time,  and  heartily  expressed  his  "  detestation  of  the 
practice  of  giving  young  children  lessons  to  learn  at 
home."  Dr.  S.  G.  Howe,  reasoning  elaborately  on  the 
whole  subject,  said,  that  children  under  eight  should  not 
be  confined  more  than  half  an  hour  at  a  time,  —  "by  fol- 
lowing which  rule,  with  long  recesses,  they  can  study  four 
hours  daily " ;  children  between  eight  and  fourteen  should 
not  be  confined  more  than  three  quarters  of  an  hour  at  a 
time,  having  the  last  quarter  of  each  hour  for  exercise  in 
the  playground ;  —  and  he  allowed  six  hours  of  school  in 
winter,  or  seven  in  summer,  solely  on  condition  of  this 
deduction  of  twenty-five  per  cent  for  recesses. 

Indeed,  the  one  thing  about  which  doctors  do  not  disa- 
gree is  the  destructive  effect  of  premature  or  excessive 
mental  labor.  I  can  quote  you  medical  authority  for  and 
against  every  maxim  of  dietetics  beyond  the  very  sim- 
plest ;  but  I  defy  you  to  find  one  man  who  ever  begged, 
borrowed,  or  stole  the  title  of  M.  D.,  and  yet  abused  those 
two  honorary  letters  by  asserting,  under  their  cover,  that 
a  child  could  safely  study  as  much  as  a  man,  or  that  a 
man  could  safely  study  more  than  six  hours  a  day.  Most 
of  the  intelligent  men  in  the  profession  would  probably 


THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS.       85 

admit,  with  Scott,  that  even  that  is  too  large  an  allowance 
in  maturity  for  vigorous  work  of  the  brain. 

Taking,  then,  five  hours  as  the  reasonable  daily  limit 
of  mental  effort  for  children  of  eight  to  fourteen  years, 
and  one  hour  as  the  longest  time  of  continuous  confine- 
ment, (it  was  a  standing  rule  of  the  Jesuits,  by  the  way, 
that  no  pupil  should  study  more  than  two  hours  without 
relaxation,)  the  important  question  now  recurs,  To  what 
school  shall  we  send  Angelina  ? 

Shall  we  send  her,  for  instance,  to  Dothegirls'  Hall  ? 
At  that  seminary  of  useful  knowledge,  I  find  by  careful 
inquiry  that  the  daily  performance  is  as  follows,  at  least 
in  summer.  The  pupils  rise  at  or  before  five,  A.  M. ;  at 
any  rate,  they  study  from  five  to  seven,  two  hours.  From 
seven  to  eight  they  breakfast.  From  eight  to  two  they 
are  in  the  school-room,  six  consecutive  hours.  From  two 
to  three  they  dine.  From  three  to  five  they  are  "al- 
lowed "  to  walk  or  take  other  exercise,  —  that  is,  if  it  is 
pleasant  weather,  and  if  they  feel  the  spirit  for  it,  and 
if  the  time  is  not  all  used  up  in  sewing,  writing  letters, 
school  politics,  and  all  the  small  miscellaneous  duties  of 
existence,  for  which  no  other  moment  is  provided  during 
day  or  night.  From  five  to  six  they  study  ;  from  six  to 
seven  comes  the  tea-table ;  from  seven  to  nine  study 
again  ;  then  bed  and  (at  least  for  the  stupid  ones)  sleep. 

Eleven  solid  hours  of  study  each  day,  Dolorosus ! 
Eight  for  sleep,  three  for  meals,  two  during  which  out- 
door exercise  is  "  allowed."  There  is  no  mistake  about 
this  statement ;  I  wish  there  were.  I  have  not  imagined 
it ;  who  could  have  done  so,  short  of  Milton  and  Dante, 
who  were  versed  in  the  exploration  of  kindred  regions  of 
torment  ?  But  as  I  cannot  expect  the  general  public  to 
believe  the  statement,  even  if  you  do, — and  as  this  letter, 


86       THE  MURDER   OF   THE  INNOCENTS. 

like  my  previous  one,  may  accidentally  find  its  way  into 
print,  —  and  as  I  cannot  refer  to  those  who  have  person- 
ally attended  the  school,  since  they  probably  die  off  too 
fast  to  be  summoned  as  witnesses,  —  I  will  come  down 
to  a  rather  milder  statement,  and  see  if  you  will  believe 
that 

Shall  we  send  her,  then,  to  the  famous  New  York 
school  of  Mrs.  Destructive  ?  This  is  recently  noticed  as 
follows  in  the  "  Household  Journal " :  —  "  Of  this  most 
admirable  school,  for  faithful  and  well-bred  system  of 
education,  we  have  long  intended  to  speak  approvingly  ; 
but  in  the  following  extract  from  the  circular  the  truth  is 
more  expressively  given :  '  From  September  to  April 
the  time  of  rising  is  a  quarter  before  seven  o'clock,  and 
from  April  to  July  half  an  hour  earlier ;  then  breakfast ; 
after  which,  from  eight  to  nine  o'clock,  study, — the  school 
opening  at  nine  o'clock,  with  reading  the  Scriptures  and 
prayer.  From  nine  until  half  past  twelve,  the  recitations 
succeed  one  another,  with  occasional  short  intervals  of 
rest.  From  half  past  twelve  to  one,  recreation  and  lunch. 
From  one  to  three  o'clock,  at  which  hour  the  school  closes, 
the  studies  are  exclusively  in  the  French  language.  .  .  . 
From  three  to  four  o'clock  in  the  winter,  but  later  in  the 
summer,  exercise  in  the  open  air.  There  are  also  oppor- 
tunities for  exercise  several  times  in  the  day,  at  short 
intervals,  which  cannot  easily  be  explained.  From  a 
quarter  past  four  to  five  o'clock,  study ;  then  dinner,  and 
soon  after  tea.  From  seven  to  nine,  two  hours  of  study  ; 
immediately  after  which  all  retire  for  the  night,  and  lights 
in  the  sleeping  apartments  must  be  extinguished  at  half 
past  nine.'"  You  have  summed  up  the  total  already, 
Dolorosus;  I  see  it  on  your  lips; — nine  hours  and  a 
quarter  of  study,  and  one  solitary  hour  for  exercise,  not 


THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS.      87 

counting  those  inexplicable  "  short  intervals  which  cannot 
easily  be  explained  "  I 

You  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  I  have  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  witnessing  the  brilliant  results  of  Mrs.  Destruc- 
tive's system,  in  the  case  of  my  charming  little  neighbor, 
Fanny  Carroll.  She  has  lately  returned  from  a  stay  of 
one  year  under  that  fashionable  roof.  In  most  respects,  I 
was  assured,  the  results  of  the  school  were  all  that  could 
be  desired;  the  mother  informed  me,  with  delight,  that 
the  child  now  spoke  French  like  an  angel  from  Paris,  and 
handled  her  silver  fork  like  a  seraph  from  the  skies. 
You  may  well  suppose  that  I  hastened  to  call  upon  her ; 
for  the  gay  little  creature  was  always  a  great  pet  of  mine, 
and  I  always  quoted  her  with  delight,  as  a  proof  that 
bloom  and  strength  were  not  monopolized  by  English 
girls.  In  the  parlor  I  found  the  mother  closeted  with  the 
family  physician.  Soon,  Fanny,  aged  sixteen,  glided  in, 
—  a  pale  spectre,  exquisite  in  costume,  unexceptionable 
in  manners,  looking  in  all  respects  like  an  exceedingly 
used-up  belle  of  five-and-twenty.  "  What  were  you  just 
saying  that  some  of  my  Fanny's  symptoms  were,  doctor  ?" 
asked  the  languid  mother,  as  if  longing  for  a  second  taste 
of  some  dainty  morsel.  The  courteous  physician  dropped 
them  into  her  eager  palm,  like  sugar-plums,  one  by  one : 
"Vertigo,  headache,  neuralgic  pains,  and  general  debility." 
The  mother  sighed  once  genteelly  at  me,  and  then  again, 
quite  sincerely,  to  herself;  —  but  I  never  yet  saw  an 
habitual  invalid  who  did  not  seem  to  take  a  secret  satis- 
faction in  finding  her  child  to  be  a  chip  of  the  old  block, 
though  both  block  and  chip  be  decayed.  However,  noth- 
ing is  now  said  of  Miss  Carroll's  returning  to  school ;  and 
the  other  day  I  actually  saw  her  dashing  through  the  lane 
on  the  family  pony,  with  a  tinge  of  the  old  brightness  in 


88       THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS 

her  cheeks.  I  ventured  to  inquire  of  her,  soon  after,  if 
she  had  finished  her  education ;  and  she  replied,  with  a 
slight  tinge  of  satire,  that  she  studied  regularly  every 
day,  at  various  "short  intervals,  which  could  not  easily 
be  explained." 

Five  hours  a  day  the  safe  limit  for  study,  Dolorosus, 
and  these  terrible  schools  quietly  put  into  their  pro- 
grammes nine,  ten,  eleven  hours ;  and  the  deluded  par- 
ents think  they  have  out-manoeuvred  the  laws  of  Nature, 
and  made  a  better  bargain  with  Time.  But  these  are 
private,  exclusive  schools,  you  may  say,  for  especially 
favored  children.  We  cannot  afford  to  have  most  of  the 
rising  generation  murdered  so  expensively ;  and  hi  our 
public  schools,  at  least,  one  thinks  there  may  be -some 
relaxation  of  this  tremendous  strain.  Besides,  physiologi- 
cal reformers  had  the  making  of  our  public  system.  "A 
man  without  high  health,"  said  Horace  Mann,  "is  as  much 
at  war  with  Nature  as  a  guilty  soul  is  at  war  with  the 
spirit  of  God."  Look  first  at  our  Normal  Schools,  there- 
fore, and  see  how  finely  their  theory,  also,  presents  this 
same  lofty  view. 

"  Those  who  have  had  much  to  do  with  students,  espe- 
cially with  the  female  portion,"  said  a  Normal  School  Re- 
port a  few  years  since,  "  well  know  the  sort  of  martyr- 
spirit  that  extensively  prevails,  —  how  ready  they  often 
are  to  sacrifice  everything  for  the  sake  of  a  good  lesson, 
—  how  false  are  their  notions  of  true  economy  in  mental 
labor, sacrificing  their  physical  natures  most  un- 
scrupulously to  their  intellectual.  Indeed,  so  strong  had 
this  passion  for  abuse  become  [in  this  institution^,  that  no 
study  of  the  laws  of  the  physical  organization,  no  warning, 
no  painful  experiences  of  their  own  or  of  their  associates, 
were  sufficient  to  overcome  then*  readiness  for  self-sacri- 


THE   MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS.      89 

fice."  And  it  appears,  that,  in  consequence  of  this  state 
of  things,  circulars  were  sent  to  all  boarding-houses  in  the 
village,  laying  down  stringent  rules  to  prevent  the  young 
ladies  from  exceeding  the  prescribed  amount  of  study. 

Now  turn  from  theory  to  practice.  What  was  this 
"  prescribed  amount  of  study "  which  these  desperate 
young  females  persisted  in  exceeding,  in  this  model 
school  ?  It  began  with  an  hour's  study  before  daylight 
(in  winter), — a  thing  most  ruinous  to  eyesight,  as  multi- 
tudes have  found  to  their  cost.  Then  from  eight  to  half 
past  two,  from  four  to  half  past  five,  from  seven  to  nine, 
—  with  one  or  two  slight  recesses.  Ten  hours  and  three 
quarters  daily,  Dolorosus !  as  surely  as  you  are  a  living 
sinner,  and  as  surely  as  the  Board  of  Education  who 
framed  that  programme  were  sinners  likewise.  I  believe 
that  some  Normal  Schools  have  learned  more  moderation 
now  ;  but  I  know  also  what  forlorn  wrecks  of  womanhood 
have  been  strewed  along  their  melancholy  history,  thus 
far;  and  at  what  incalculable  cost  their  successes  have 
been  purchased. 

But  it  is  premature  to  contemplate  this  form  of  martyr- 
dom for  Angelina,  who  has  to  run  the  gantlet  of  our  com 
mon  schools  and  high  schools  first.  Let  us  consider  her 
prospects  in  these,  carrying  with  us  that  blessed  maxim, 
five  hours'  study  a  day,  — "  Nature  loves  the  number 
five,"  as  Emerson  judiciously  remarks,  —  for  our  aegia 
against  the  wiles  of  schoolmasters. 

The  year  1854  is  memorable  for  a  bomb-sLell  then 
thrown  into  the  midst  of  the  triumphant  school  system 
of  Boston,  in  thef  form  of  a  solemn  protest  by  the  city 
physician  against  the  ruinous  manner  in  which  the  chil- 
dren were  overworked.  Fact,  feeling,  and  physiology 
were  brought  to  bear,  with  much  tact  and  energy,  and 


90       THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

the  one  special  point  of  assault  was  the  practice  of  impos« 
ing  out-of-school  studies,  beyond  the  habitual  six  hours  of 
session.  A  committee  of  inquiry  was  appointed.  They 
interrogated  the  grammar-school  teachers.  The  innocent 
and  unsuspecting  teachers  were  amazed  at  the  suggestion 
of  any  excess.  Most  of  them  promptly  replied,  hi  writ- 
ing, that  "  they  had  never  heard  of  any  complaints  on  this 
subject  from  parents  or  guardians  " ;  that  "  most  of  the 
masters  were  watchful  upon  the  matter  "  ;  that  "  none  of 
them  pressed  out-of-school  studies  "  ;  while  "  the  general 
opinion  appeared  to  be,  that  a  moderate  amount  of  out-of- 
school  study  was  both  necessary  for  the  prescribed  course 
of  study  and  wholesome  hi  its  influence  on  character  and 
habits."  They  suggested  that  "  commonly  the  ill  health 
that  might  exist  arose  from  other  causes  than  excessive 
study " ;  one  attributed  it  to  the  use  of  confectionery, 
another  to  fashionable  parties,  another  to  the  occasional 
practice  of  "  chewing  pitch,"  —  anything,  everything,  rath- 
er than  admit  that  American  children  of  fourteen  could 
possibly  be  damaged  by  working  only  two  hours  a  day 
more  than  Walter  Scott. 

However,  the  committee  thought  differently.  At  any 
rate,  they  fancied  that  they  had  more  immediate  control 
over  the  school-hours  than  they  could  exercise  over  the 
propensity  of  young  girls  for  confectionery,  or  over  the 
improprieties  of  small  boys  who,  yet  immature  for  tobacco, 
touched  pitch  and  were  defiled.  So  by  their  influence 
was  passed  that  immortal  Section  7  of  Chapter  V.  of 
the  School  Regulations,  —  the  Magna  Charta  of  childish 
liberty,  so  far  as  it  goes,  and  the  only  safeguard  which 
renders  it  prudent  to  rear  a  family  within  the  limits  of 
Boston :  — 

"  In  assigning  lessons  to  boys  to  be  studied  out  of 


THE  MURDER   OF   THE  INNOCENTS.       91 

school-hours,  the  instructors  shall  not  assign  a  longer  les- 
son than  a  boy  of  good  capacity  can  acquire  by  an  hour's 
study ;  but  no  out-of-school  lessons  shall  be  assigned  to 
girls,  nor  shall  the  lessons  to  be  studied  in  school  be  so 
long  as  to  require  a  scholar  of  ordinary  capacity  to  study 
out  of  school  in  order  to  learn  them." 

It  appears  that  since  that  epoch  this  rule  has  M  gener- 
ally "  been  observed,  *  though  many  of  the  teachers  would 
prefer  a  different  practice."  "  The  rule  is  regarded  by 
some  as  an  uncomfortable  restriction,  which  without  ade- 
quate reason  (!)  retards  the  progress  of  pupils."  "  A 
majority  of  our  teachers  would  consider  the  permission 
to  assign  lessons  for  study  at  home  to  be  a  decided  advan- 
tage and  privilege."  So  say  the  later  reports  of  the  com- 
mittee. 

Fortunately  for  Angelina  and  the  junior  members  of 
the  house  of  Dolorosus,  you  are  not  now  directly  depend- 
ent upon  Boston  regulations.  I  mention  them  only  because 
they  represent  a  contest  which  is  inevitable  in  every  large 
town  in  the  United  States  where  the  public-school  system 
is  sufficiently  perfected  to  be  dangerous.  It  is  simply  the 
question,  whether  children  can  bear  more  brain-work  than 
men  can.  Physiology,  speaking  through  my  humble  voice, 
(the  personification  may  remind  you  of  the  days  when  men 
began  poems  with  "  Inoculation,  heavenly  maid!")  shrieks 
loudly  for  five  hours  as  the  utmost  limit,  and  four  hours  as 
far  more  reasonable  than  six.  But  even  the  comparatively 
moderate  "  friends  of  education  "  still  claim  the  contrary. 
Mr.  Bishop,  the  worthy  Superintendent  of  Schools  in  Bos- 
ton, says,  (Report,  1855,)  "The  time  daily  allotted  to 
studies  may  very  properly  be  extended  to  seven  hours  a 
day  for  young  persons  over  fifteen  years  of  age";  and  the 
Secretary  of  the  Massachusetts  Board  of  Education,  in  bis 


92       THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

recent  volume,  seems  to  think  it  a  great  concession  to  limit 
the  period,  even  for  younger  pupils,  to  six. 

And  we  must  not  forget,  that,  frame  regulations  SLA  we 
may,  the  tendency  will  always  be  to  overrun  them.  In 
the  report  of  the  Boston  sub-committee  to  which  I  have 
referred,  it  was  expressly  admitted  that  the  restrictions 
recommended  u  would  not  alone  remedy  the  evil,  or  do 
much  toward  it ;  there  would  still  be  much,  and  with  the 
ambitious  too  much,  studying  out  of  school."  They 
ascribed  the  real  difficulty  "  to  the  general  arrange- 
ments of  our  schools,  and  to  the  strong  pressure  from 
various  causes  urging  the  pupils  to  intense  application 
and  the  masters  to  encourage  it,"  and  said  that  this 
"  could  only  be  met  by  some  general  changes  intro- 
duced by  general  legislation."  Some  few  of  the  mas- 
ters had  previously  admitted  the  same  thing :  "  The 
pressure  from  without,  the  expectations  of  the  commit- 
tee, the  wishes  of  the  parents,  the  ambition  of  the  pupils, 
and  an  exacting  public  sentiment,  do  tend  to  stimulate 
many  to  excessive  application,  both  in  and  out  of  school." 

This  admits  the  same  fact,  in  a  different  form.  If  these 
children  have  half  their  vitality  taken  out  of  them  by  pre- 
mature and  excessive  brain-work,  it  makes  no  difference 
whether  it  is  done  in  the  form  of  direct  taxation  or  of 
indirect,  —  whether  they  are  compelled  to  it  by  authority 
or  allured  into  it  by  excitement  and  emulation.  If  a 
horse  breaks  a  bloodvessel  by  running  too  hard,  it  is  no 
matter  whether  he  was  goaded  by  whip  and  spur,  or  in- 
geniously coaxed  by  the  Hibernian  method  of  a  lock  of 
hay  tied  six  inches  before  his  nose.  The  method  is 
nothing, — it  is  the  pace  which  kills.  Probably  the  fact 
is,  that  for  every  extra  hour  directly  required  by  the 
teacher,  another  is  ind'rectly  extorted  in  addition  by  the 


THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS.       93 

general  stimulus  of  the  school.  The  best  scholars  put  on 
the  added  hour,  because  they  are  the  best,  —  and  the  in- 
ferior scholars,  because  they  are  not  the  best.  In  either 
case  the  excess  is  destructive  in  its  tendency,  and  the  only 
refuge  for  individuals  is  to  be  found  in  a  combination  of 
fortunate  dulness  with  happy  indifference  to  shame.  But 
is  it  desirable,  my  friend,  to  construct  our  school  system  on 
such  a  basis  that  safety  and  health  shall  be  monopolized 
by  the  stupid  and  the  shameless  ? 

Is  this  magnificent  system  of  public  instruction,  the 
glory  of  the  world,  to  turn  out  merely  a  vast  machine  for 
public  destruction  ?  Look  at  it !  as  now  arranged,  com- 
mittees are  responsible  to  the  public,  teachers  to  com- 
mittees, pupils  to  teachers,  —  all  pledged  to  extract  a 
maximum  crop  from  childish  brains.  It  is  the  same 
system  of  middle-men  which  for  years  ruined  the  Irish 
peasantry,  with  nobody  ostensibly  to  blame.  Each  is 
responsible  to  the  authority  next  above  him  for  a  certa:n 
amount,  and  must  get  it  out  of  the  victim  next  below  him. 
Constant  improvements  in  machinery  perfect  and  expedite 
the  work ;  improved  gauges  and  meters  (in  the  form  of 
examinations)  compute  the  comparative  yield  to  a  nicety, 
and  allow  no  evasion.  The  child  cannot  spare  an  hour, 
for  he  must  keep  up  with  the  other  children  ;  the  teacher 
dares  not  relax,  for  he  must  keep  up  with  the  other 
schools ;  the  committees  must  only  stimulate,  not  check, 
for  the  eyes  of  the  editors  are  upon  them,  and  the  muni- 
cipal glory  is  at  stake  :  every  one  of  these,  from  highest 
to  lowest,  has  his  appointed  place  in  the  tread-mill,  and 
must  keep  step  with  the  rest ;  and  only  once  a  year,  at 
the  summer  vacation,  the  vast  machine  stops,  and  the 
poor  remains  of  childish  brain  and  body  are  taken  out 
and  handed  to  anxious  parents  (like  you,  Dolorosus)  :  — 


94       THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

"  Here,  most  worthy  tax-payer,  is  the  dilapidated  residue 
of  your  beloved  Angelina ;  take  her  to  the  sea-shore  for 
a  few  weeks,  and  make  the  most  of  her." 

Do  not  you  know  that  foreigners,  coming  from  the 
contemplation  of  races  less  precociously  intellectual,  see 
the  danger  we  are  in,  if  we  do  not  ?  I  was  struck  by 
the  sudden  disappointment  of  an  enthusiastic  English 
teacher  (Mr.  Calthrop),  who  visited  the  New  York 
schools  the  other  day  and  got  a  little  behind  the  scenes. 
"  If  I  wanted  a  stranger  to  believe  that  the  Millennium 
was  not  far  off,"  he  said,  "  I  would  take  him  to  some  of 
those  grand  ward-schools  in  New  York,  where  able  heads 
are  trained  by  the  thousand.  I  spent  four  or  five  days 
in  doing  little  else  than  going  through  these  truly  won- 
derful schools.  I  stayed  more  than  three  hours  in  one  of 
them,  wondering  at  all  I  saw,  admiring  the  stately  order, 
the  unbroken  discipline  of  the  whole  arrangements,  and 
the  wonderful  quickness  and  intelligence  of  the  scholars. 
That  same  evening  I  went  to  see  a  friend,  whose  daugh- 
ter, a  child  of  thirteen,  was  at  one  of  these  schools.  I 
examined  her,  and  found  that  the  little  girl  could  hold 
her  own  with  many  of  larger  growth.  *  Did  she  go  to 
school  to-day?'  asked  I.  'No,'  was  the  answer,  'she 
has  not  been  for  some  time,  as  she  was  beginning  to  get 
quite  a  serious  curvature  of  the  spine ;  so  now  she  goes 
regularly  to  a  gymnastic  doctor.'" 

I  am  sure  that  we  have  all  had  the  same  experience. 
How  exciting  it  was,  last  year,  to  be  sure,  to  see  An. 
gelina  at  the  grammar-school  examination,  multiplying 
mentally  351,426  by  236,145,  and  announcing  the  result 
in  two  minutes  and  thirteen  seconds  as  82,987,492,770 ! 
I  remember  how  you  stood  trembling  as  she  staggered 
under  the  monstrous  load,  and  how  your  cheek  hung  out 


THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS.       95 

the  red  flag  of  parental  exultation  when  she  came  out 
safe.  But  when  I  looked  at  her  colorless  visage,  sharp 
features,  and  shiny,  consumptive  skin,  I  groaned  inwardly. 
It  seemed  as  if  that  crop  of  figures,  like  the  innumerable 
florets  of  the  whiteweed,  now  overspreading  your  pater- 
nal farm,  were  exhausting  the  last  atoms  of  vitality  from 
a  shallow  soil.  What  a  pity  it  is  that  the  Deity  gave  to 
these  children  of  ours  bodies  as  well  as  brains !  How 
it  interferes  with  thorough  instruction  in  the  languages 
and  the  sciences!  You  remember  the  negro-trader  in 
"  Uncle  Tom,"  who  sighs  for  a  lot  of  negroes  specially 
constructed  for  his  convenience,  with  the  souls  left  out  ? 
Could  not  some  of  our  school-committees  take  measures 
to  secure  the  companion  set,  possessing  merely  the  brains, 
and  with  the  troublesome  bodies  conveniently  omitted  ? 

The  truth  is,  that  we  Americans,  having  overcome  all 
other  obstacles  to  the  universal  education  of  the  people, 
have  thought  to  overcome  even  the  limitations  imposed 
by  the  laws  of  Nature ;  and  so  we  were  going  trium- 
phantly on,  when  the  ruined  health  of  our  children  sud- 
denly brought  us  to  a  stand.  Now  we  suddenly  discover, 
that,  in  the  absence  of  Inquisitions,  and  other  unpleasant 
Old- World  tortures,  our  school-houses  have  taken  their 
place.  We  have  outgrown  war,  we  think ;  and  yet  we 
have  not  outgrown  a  form  of  contest  which  is  undeniably 
more  sanguinary,  since  one  half  the  community  actually 
die,  under  present  arrangements,  before  they  are  old 
enough  to  see  a  battle-field,  —  that  is,  before  the  age  of 
eighteen.  It  is  an  actual  fact,  that,  if  you  can  only  keep 
Angelina  alive  up  to  that  birthday,  even  if  she  be  an 
ignoramus,  she  will  at  least  have  accomplished  the  feat  of 
surviving  half  her  contemporaries.  Can  there  be  no 
Peace  Society  to  check  this  terrific  carnage?  DolorosiiSi 


96       THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

rather  than  have  a  child  of  mine  die,  as  I  have  recently 
heard  of  a  child's  dying,  .insane  from  sheer  overwork,  and 
raving  of  algebra,  I  would  have  her  come  no  nearer  to 
the  splendors  of  science  than  the  man  in  the  French  play, 
who  brings  away  from  school  only  the  general  impression 
that  two  and  two  make  five  for  a  creditor  and  three  for  a 
debtor. 

De  Quincey  wrote  a  treatise  on  "  Murder  considered 
as  one  of  the  Fine  Arts,"  and  it  is  certainly  the  fine  art 
which  receives  most  attention  in  our  schools.  "  So  far 
as  the  body  is  concerned,"  said  Horace  Mann  of  these 
institutions,  "  they  provide  for  all  the  natural  tenden- 
cies to  physical  ease  and  inactivity  as  carefully  as  though 
paleness  and  languor,  muscular  enervation  and  debility, 
were  held  to  be  constituent  elements  in  national  beauty." 
With  this  denial  of  the  body  on  one  side,  with  this 
tremendous  stimulus  of  brain  on  the  other,  and  with  a 
delicate  and  nervous  national  organization  to  begin  with, 
the  result  is  inevitable.  Boys  hold  out  better  than  girls, 
partly  because  they  are  not  so  docile  in  school,  partly 
because  they  are  allowed  to  be  more  active  out  of  it, 
and  so  have  more  recuperative  power.  But  who  has  not 
seen  some  delicate  girl,  after  five  consecutive  hours  spent 
over  French  and  Latin  and  Algebra,  come  home  to 
swallow  an  indigestible  dinner,  and  straightway  settle 
down  again  to  spend  literally  every  waking  hour  out  of 
the  twenty-four  in  study,  save  those  scanty  meal-times,  — 
protracting  the  labor,  it  may  be,  far  into  the  night,  till 
the  weary  eyes  close  unwillingly  over  the  slate  or  the 
lexicon,  —  then  to  bed,  to  be  vexed  by  troubled  dreams, 
instead  of  being  wrapt  in  the  sunny  slumber  of  childhood, 
—  waking  unrefreshed,  to  be  reproached  by  parents  and 
friends  with  the  nervous  irritability  which  this  detestable 
routine  has  created? 


THE  MURDER   OF   THE  INNOCENTS.       97 

For  I  aver  that  parents  are  more  exacting  than  even 
teachers.  It  is  outrageous  to  heap  it  all  upon  the  ped- 
agogues, as  if  they  were  the  only  apostolical  successors 
of  him  whom  Charles  Lamb  lauded,  "  the  much  calum- 
niated good  King  Herod."  Indeed,  teachers  have  no 
objection  to  educating  the  bodies  of  their  small  subjects, 
if  they  can  only  be  as  well  paid  for  it  as  for  educating 
their  intellects.  But,  until  recently,  they  have  never 
been  allowed  to  put  the  bodies  into  the  bilL  And  as 
charity  begins  at  home,  even  in  a  physiological  sense,  — 
and  as  their  own  children's  bodies  required  bread  and 
butter,  —  they  naturally  postponed  all  regard  for  the 
physical  education  of  their  pupils  until  the  thing  acquired 
a  marketable  value.  Now  that  the  change  is  taking 
place,  every  schoolmaster  in  the  land  gladly  adapts  him- 
self to  it,  and  hastens  to  insert  in  his  advertisement, 
"  Especial  attention  given  to  physical  education."  But 
what  good  does  this  do,  so  long  as  parents  are  not  willing 
that  time  enough  should  be  deducted  from  the  ordinary 
tasks  to  make  the  athletic  apparatus  available,  —  so  long 
as  it  is  regarded  as  a  merit  in  pupils  to  take  time  from 
their  plays  and  give  it  to  extra  studies,  —  so  long  as  we 
exult  over  an  inactive  and  studious  child,  as  Dr.  Beattie 
did  over  his,  that  "  exploits  of  strength,  dexterity,  and 
speed  "  "  to  him  no  vanity  or  joy  could  bring,"  and  then 
almost  die  of  despair,  like  Dr.  Beattie,  because  such  a 
child  dies  before  us  ?  With  girls  it  is  far  worse.  "  Girb, 
during  childhood,  are  liable  to  no  diseases  distinct  from 
those  of  boys,"  says  Salzmann,  "  except  the  disease  of 
education."  What  mother  can  one  find  in  decent  society, 
I  ask  you,  who  is  not  delighted  to  have  her  little  girl 
devote  even  Wednesday  and  Saturday  afternoons  to  ad- 
ditional taska  in  drawing  or  music,  rather  than  run  the 
5  o 


98       THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

risk  of  having  her  make  a  noise  somewhere,  or  possibly 
even  soil  her  dress  ?  Papa  himself  will  far  more  readily 
appropriate  ten  dollars  to  this  additional  confinement,  than 
five  to  the  gymnasium  or  the  riding-school.  And  so, 
beset  with  snares  on  every  hand,  the  poor  little  well- 
educated  thing  can  only  pray  the  prayer  recorded  of  a 
despairing  child,  brought  up  in  the  best  society,  —  that 
she  might  "  die  and  go  to  heaven  and  play  with  the  Irish 
children  on  Saturday  afternoons." 

And  the  Sunday  schools  co-operate  with  the  week-day 
seminaries  in  the  pious  work  of  destruction.  Dolorosus, 
are  all  your  small  neighbors  hard  at  work  in  committing 
to  memory  Scripture  texts  for  a  wager,  —  I  have  an  im- 
pression, however,  that  they  call  it  a  prize,  —  consisting 
of  one  Bible  ?  In  my  circle  of  society  the  excitement 
runs  high.  At  any  tea-drinking,  you  may  hear  the  ladies 
discussing  the  comparative  points  and  prospects  of  their 
various  little  Ellens  and  Harriets,  with  shrill  eagerness ; 
while  their  husband?,  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  are 
debating  the  merits  of  Ethan  Allen  and  Flora  Temple, 
the  famous  trotting-horses,  who  are  soon  expected  to  try 
their  speed  on  our  "  Agricultural  Ground."  Each  horse, 
and  each  girl,  appears  to  have  enthusiastic  backers,  though 
the  Sunday-school  excitement  has  the  advantage  of  last- 
ing longer.  From  inquiry,  I  find  the  state  of  the  field  to 
be  about  as  follows :  —  Fanny  Hastings,  who  Avon  the 
prize  last  year,  is  not  to  be  entered  for  it  again ;  she 
damaged  her  memory  by  the  process,  her  teacher  tells 
me,  so  that  she  can  now  scarcely  fix  the  simplest  lesson 
in  her  mind.  Carry  Blake  had  got  up  to  five  thousand 
verses,  but  had  such  terrible  headaches  that  her  mother 
compelled  her  to  stop,  some  weeks  ago ;  the  texts  have 
all  vanished  from  her  brain,  but  the  headache  unfortu- 


THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS.       99 

nately  &till  lingers.  Nelly  Sanborn  has  reached  six  thou- 
sand, although  her  anxious  father  long  since  tried  to  buy 
her  off  by  offering  her  a  new  Bible  twice  as  handsome  as 
the  prize  one :  but  what  did  she  care  for  that  ?  she  said ; 
she  had  handsome  Bibles  already,  but  she  had  no  inten- 
tion of  being  beaten  by  Ella  Prentiss.  Poor  child,  we 
see  no  chance  for  her  ;  for  Ella  has  it  all  her  own  way  ; 
she  has  made  up  a  score  of  seven  thousand  one  hundred 
texts,  and  it  is  only  three  days  to  the  fatal  Sunday.  Be- 
tween ourselves,  I  think  Nelly  does  her  work  more  fairly ; 
for  Ella  has  a  marvellous  ingenuity  in  picking  out  easy 
verses,  like  Jack  Homer's  plums,  and  valuing  every 
sacred  sentence,  not  by  its  subject,  but  by  its  shortness. 
Still,  she  is  bound  to  win. 

"  How  is  her  health  this  summer  ?  "  I  asked  her  moth- 
er, the  other  day. 

"  Well,  her  verses  weigh  on  her,"  said  the  good  woman, 
solemnly. 

And  here  I  pledge  you  my  word,  Dolorosus,  that  to 
every  one  of  these  statements  I  might  append,  —  as  Miss 
Edgeworth  does  to  every  particularly  tough  story, — 
UN.  B.  This  is  a  fact."  I  will  only  add,  that  our  Sun- 
day-school Superintendent,  who  is  a  physician,  told  me 
that  he  had  as  strong  objections  to  the  whole  thing  as  I 
could  have;  but  that  it  was  no  use  talking;  all  the  other 
schools  did  it,  and  ours  must ;  emulation  was  the  order 
of  the  day.  "  Besides,"  he  added,  with  that  sort  of  cheer- 
ful hopelessness  peculiar  to  his  profession,  "  the  boys 
never  trouble  themselves  about  it ;  and  as  for  the  girls, 
they  would  probably  lose  their  health  very  soon,  at  any 
rate,  and  may  as  well  devote  it  to  a  sacred  cause." 

Do  not  misunderstand  me.  The  aim  in  this  case  is  a 
good  one,  just  as  the  aim  in  week-day  schools  is  a  good 


100     THE  MURDER   OF   THE  INNOCENTS. 

one,  —  to  communicate  valuable  knowledge  and  develop 
the  powers  of  the  mind.  The  defect  in  policy,  in  both 
cases,  appears  to  be,  that  it  totally  defeats  its  own  aim, 
renders  the  employments  hateful  that  should  be  delight- 
ful, and  sacrifices  health  and  joy  without  any  adequate 
equivalent  All  excess  defeats  itself.  As  a  grown  man 
can  work  more  in  ten  hours  than  in  fifteen,  taking. a  series 
of  days  together,  so  a  child  can  make  more  substantial 
mental  progress  in  five  hours  daily  than  in  ten.  Your 
child's  mind  is  not  an  earthen  jar,  to  be  filled  by  pouring 
into  it ;  it  is  a  delicate  plant,  to  be  wisely  and  healthfully 
reared ;  and  your  wife  might  as  well  attempt  to  enrich 
her  mignonette-bed  by  laying  a  Greek  Lexicon  upon  it, 
as  try  to  cultivate  that  young  nature  by  a  top-dressing 
of  Encyclopaedias.  I  use  the  word  on  high  authority. 
"  Courage,  my  boy ! "  wrote  Lord  Chatham  to  his  son, 
"  only  the  Encyclopaedia  to  learn  !  "  —  and  the  cruel  dis- 
eases of  a  lifetime  repaid  Pitt  for  the  forcing.  I  do  not 
object  to  the  severest  quality  of  study  for  boys  or  girls ; 
—  while  their  brains  work,  let  them  work  in  earnest. 
But  I  do  object  to  this  immoderate  and  terrific  quantity. 
Cut  down  every  school,  public  and  private,  to  five  hours' 
total  work  per  diem  for  the  oldest  children,  and  four  for 
the  younger  ones,  arfd  they  will  accomplish  more  in  the 
end  than  you  ever  saw  them  do  in  six  or  seven.  Only 
give  little  enough  at  a  time,  and  some  freshness  to  do  it 
with,  and  you  may,  if  you  like,  send  Angelina  to  any 
school,  and  put  her  through  the  whole  programme  of  the 
last  educational  prospectus  sent  to  me,  — "  Philology, 
Pantology,  Orthology,  Aristology,  and  Linguistics." 

For  what  is  the  end  to  be  desired  ?  Ls  it  to  exhibit  a 
prodigy,  or  to  rear  a  noble  and  symmetrical  specimen 
of  a  human  being?  Because  Socrates  taught  that  a  boy 


THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS.     101 

who  has  learned  to  speak  is  not  too  small  for  the  sciences, 

—  because  Tiberius  delivered  his  father's  funeral  oration 
at  the  age  of  nine,  and  Marcus  Aurelius  put  on  the  phi- 
losophic gown  at  twelve,  and  Cicero  wrote  a  treatise  on 
the  art  of  speaking  at  thirteen,  —  because  Lipsius  is  said 
to  have  composed  a  work  the  day  he  was  born,  meaning, 
say  the  commentators,  that  he  began  a  new  life  at  the  age 
of  ten,  —  because  the  learned  Licetus,  who  was  brought 
into  the  world  so  feeble  as  to  be  baked  up  to  maturity  in 
an  oven,  sent  forth  from  that  receptacle,  like  a  loaf  of 
bread,  a  treatise  called  "  Gonopsychanthropologia,"  —  is 
it,  therefore,  indispensably  necessary,  Dolorosus,  that  all 
your  pale  little   offspring  shall   imitate  them  ?      Spare 
these  innocents !  it  is  not  their  .fault  that  they  are  your 
children,  —  so   do  not  visit  it  upon  them  so  severely. 
Turn,  Angelina,  ever  dear,  and  out  of  a  little  childish 
rpcreation  we  will  yet  extract  a  great  deal  of  maturer 
wisdom  for  you,  if  we  can  only  bring  this  deluded  parent 
to  his  senses. 

To  change  the  sweet  privilege  of  childhood  into  weary 
days  and  restless  nights,  —  to  darken  its  pure  associa- 
tions, which  for  many  are  the  sole  light  that  ever  brings 
them  back  from  sin  and  despair  to  the  heaven  of  their 
infancy,  —  to  banish  those  reveries  of  innocent  fancy 
which  even  noisy  boyhood  knows,  and  which  are  the  ap- 
pointed guardians  of  its  purity  before  conscience  wakes, 

—  to  abolish  its  moments  of  priceless  idleness,  saturated 
with  sunshine,  blissful,  aimless  moments,  when  every  an- 
gel is  near,  —  to  bring  insanity,  once  the  terrible  prerog- 
ative of  matursr  life,  down  into  the  summer  region  of 
childhood,  with  blight  and  ruin  ;  —  all  this  is  the  work  of 
our  folly,  Doloi-osus,  of  our  miserable  ambition  to  have 
our  unconscious  little  ones  begin,  in  their  very  infancy, 


102     THE  MURDER   OF   THE  INNOCENTS. 

the  race  of  desperate  ambition,  which  has,  we  admit,  ex- 
hausted prematurely  the  lives  of  their  parents. 

The  worst  danger  of  it  is,  that  the  moral  is  written  at 
the  end  of  the  fable,  not  the  beginning.  The  organization 
in  youth  is  so  dangerously  elastic,  that  the  result  of  these 
intellectual  excesses  is  not  seen  until  years  after.  When 
some  young  girl  incurs  spinal  disease  for  life  from  some 
slight  fall  which  she  ought  not  to  have  felt  for  an  hour,  or 
some  business-man  breaks  down  in  the  prime  of  his  years 
from  some  trifling  over-anxiety  which  should  have  left  no 
trace  behind,  the  popular  verdict  may  be,  "  Mysterious 
Providence  "  ;  but  the  wiser  observer  sees  the  retribution 
for  the  folly  of  those  misspent  days  which  enfeebled  the 
childish  constitution,  instead  of  ripening  it.  One  of  the 
most  admirable  passages  in  the  Report  of  Dr.  Ray,  already 
mentioned,  is  that  in  which  he  explains,  that,  though  hard 
study  at  school  is  rarely  the  immediate  cause  of  insanity, 
it  is  the  most  frequent  of  its  ulterior  causes,  except  hered- 
itary tendencies.  "  It  diminishes  the  conservative  power 
of  the  animal  economy  to  such  a  degree,  that  attacks  of 
disease,  which  otherwise  would  have  passed  off  safely, 
destroy  life  almost  before  danger  is  anticipated.  Every 
intelligent  physician  understands,  that,  other  things  being 
equal,  the  chances  of  recovery  are  far  less  in  the  studious, 
highly  intellectual  child  than  in  one  of  an  opposite  descrip- 
tion. The  immediate  mischief  may  have  seemed  slight, 
but  the  brain  is  left  in  a  condition  of  peculiar  impressi- 
bility, which  renders  it  morbidly  sensitive  to  every  ad- 
verse influence." 

Indeed,  here  is  precisely  the  weakness  of  our  whole 
national  training  thus  far,  —  brilliant  immediate  results, 
instead  of  wise  delays.  The  life  of  the  average  American 
is  a  very  hasly  breakfast,  a  magnificent  luncheon,  a  dys- 


THE  MURDER   OF   THE  INNOCENTS.     103 

peptic  dinner,  and  no  supper.  Our  masculine  energy  is, 
like  our  feminine  beauty,  bright  and  evanescent.  As  en- 
thusiastic travellers  inform  us  that  there  are  in  every 
American  village  a  dozen  girls  of  sixteen  who  are  pret- 
tier than  any  English  hamlet  of  the  same  size  can  pro- 
duce, so  the  same  village  undoubtedly  possesses  a  dozen 
very  young  men  who,  tried  by  the  same  standard,  are 
"  smarter  "  than  their  English  compeers.  Inquire  again 
fifteen  years  after,  when  the  Englishmen  and  English- 
women are  reported  to  be  just  in  their  prime,  and,  lo! 
those  lovely  girls  are  sallow  old  women,  and  the  boys  are 
worn-out  men,  —  with  fire  left  in  them,  it  may  be,  but 
fuel  gone,  —  retired  from  active  business,  very  likely,  and 
merely  waiting  for  consumption  to  carry  them  off,  as  one 
waits  for  the  omnibus. 

To  say  that  this  should  be  amended  is  to  say  little. 
Either  it  must  be  amended,  or  the  American  race  fails ; 
—  there  is  no  middle  ground.  If  we  fail,  (which  I  do 
not  expect,  I  assure  you,)  we  fail  disastrously.  If  we 
succeed,  if  we  bring  up  our  vital  and  muscular  develop- 
ments into  due  proportion  with  our  nervous  energy,  we 
shall  have  a  race  of  men  and  women  such  as  the  world 
never  saw.  Dolorosus,  when  in  the  course  of  human 
events  you  are  next  invited  to  give  a  Fourth-of-July 
Oration,  grasp  at  the  opportunity,  and  take  for  your  sub- 
ject "  Health."  Tell  your  audience,  when  you  rise  to  the 
accustomed  flowers  of  rhetoric  as  the  day  wears  on,  that 
Health  is  the  central  luminary,  of  which  all  the  stars  that 
spangle  the  proud  flag  of  our  common  country  are  but 
satellites  ;  and  close  with  a  hint  to  the  plumed  emblem  of 
our  nation,  (pointing  to  the  stuffed  one  which  will  prob- 
ably be  exhibited  on  the  platform,)  that  she  should  not 
henceforward  confine  her  energies  to  the  hatching  of 


104     THE  MURDER   OF  THE  INNOCENTS. 

short-lived  eaglets,  but  endeavor  rather  to  educate  a  few 
full-grown  birds. 

As  I  take  it,  Nature  said,  some  years  since,  —  "  Thus 
far  the  English  is  my  best  race  ;  but  we  have  had  Eng- 
lishmen enough  ;  now  for  another  turning  of  the  globe, 
and  a  further  novelty.  We  need  something  with,  a  little 
more  buoyancy  than  the  Englishman  ;  let  us  lighten  the 
structure  even  at  some  peril  in  the  process.  Put  in  one 
drop  more  of  nervous  fluid  and  make  the  American." 
With  that  drop,  a  new  range  of  promise  opened  on  the 
human  race,  and  a  lighter,  finer,  more  highly  organized 
type  of  mankind  was  born.  But  the  promise  must  be  ful- 
filled through  unequalled  dangers.  With  the  new  drop 
came  new  intoxication,  new  ardors,  passions,  ambitions, 
hopes,  reactions,  and  despairs,  —  more  daring,  more  in- 
vention, more  disease,  more  insanity,  —  forgetfulness,  at 
first,  of  the  old,  wholesome  traditions  of  living,  reckless- 
ness of  sin  and  saleratus,  loss  of  refreshing  sleep  and  of 
the  power  of  play.  To  surmount  all  this,  we  have  got  to 
fight  the  good  fight,  I  assure  you,  Dolorosus.  Nature  is 
yet  pledged  to  produce  that  finer  type,  and  if  we  miss  it, 
she  will  leave  us  to  decay,  like  our  predecessors,  —  whirl 
the  globe  over  once  more,  and  choose  a  new  place  for  a 
new  experiment. 


BARBARISM    AND   CIVILIZATION. 


BARBARISM    AND    CIVILIZATION. 


IN  the  interior  of  the  island  of  Borneo  there  has  been 
found  a  certain  race  of  wild  creatures,  of  which  kin- 
dred varieties  have  been  discovered  in  the  Philippine 
Islands,  in  Terra  del  Fuego,  and  in  Southern  Africa, 
They  walk  usually  almost  erect  upon  two  legs,  and  in 
that  attitude  measure  about  four  feet  in  height ;  they  are 
dark,  wrinkled,  and  hairy ;  they  construct  no  habitations, 
form  no  families,  scarcely  associate  together,  sleep  in  trees 
or  in  caves,  feed  on  snakes  and  vermin,  on  ants  and  ants' 
eggs,  on  mice,  and  on  each  other ;  they  cannot  be  tamed, 
nor  forced  to  any  labor ;  and  they  are  hunted  and  shot 
among  the  trees,  like  the  great  gorillas,  of  which  they  are 
a  stunted  copy.  When  they  are  captured  alive,  one  finds, 
with  surprise,  that  their  uncouth  jabbering  sounds  like 
articulate  language ;  they  turn  up  a  human  face  to  gaze 
upon  their  captor ;  the  females  show  instincts  of  modesty ; 
and,  in  fine,  these  wretched  beings  are  Men. 

Men,  "  created  in  God's  image,"  born  immortal  and 
capable  of  progress,  and  so  differing  from  Socrates  and 
Shakespeare  only  in  degree.  It  is  but  a  sliding  scale  from 
this  melancholy  debasement  up  to  the  most  regal  condi- 
tion of  humanity.  A  traceable  line  of  affinity  unites  these 
outcast  children  with  the  renowned  historic  races  of  the 


108         BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION. 

world :  the  Assyrian,  the  Egyptian,  the  Ethiopian,  the 
Jew,  —  the  beautiful  Greek,  the  strong  Roman,  the  keen 
Arab,  the  passionate  Italian,  the  stately  Spaniard,  the  sad 
Portuguese,  the  brilliant  Frenchman,  the  frank  Northman, 
the  wise  German,  the  firm  Englishman,  and  that  last-born 
heir  of  Time,  the  American,  inventor  of  many  new  things, 
but  himself,  by  his  temperament,  the  greatest  novelty  of 
all,  —  the  American,  with  his  cold,  clear  eye,  his  skin 
made  of  ice,  and  his  veins  filled  with  lava. 

Who  shall  define  what  makes  the  essential  difference 
between  those  lowest  and  these  loftiest  types?  Not  color; 
for  the  most  degraded  races  seem  never  to  be  the  blackest, 
and  the  builders  of  the  Pyramids  were  far  darker  than  the 
dwellers  in  the  Aleutian  Islands.  Not  unmixed  purity  of 
blood;  since  the  Circassians,  the  purest  type  of  the  sapreme 
Caucasian  race,  have  given  nothing  to  history  but  the  cour- 
age of  their  men  and  the  degradation  of  their  women.  Not 
religion ;  for  enlightened  nations  have  arisen  under  each 
great  historic  faith,  while  even  Christianity  has  its  Abys- 
sinia and  Arkansas.  Not  climate ;  for  each  quarter  of  the 
globe  has  witnessed  both  extremes.  We  can  only  say  that 
there  is  an  inexplicable  step  in  progress,  which  we  call 
civilization  ;  it  is  the  development  of  mankind  into  a  suf- 
ficient maturity  of  strength  to  keep  the  peace  and  organize 
institutions;  it  is  the  arrival  of  literature  and  art;  it  is  the 
lion  and  the  lamb  beginning  to  lie  down  together,  without 
having,  as  some  one  has  said,  the  lamb  inside  of  the  lion. 

There  are  innumerable  aspects  of  this  great  transforma- 
tion ;  but  there  is  one,  in  special,  which  has  been  continu- 
ally ignored  or  evaded.  In  the  midst  of  our  civilization, 
there  is  a  latent  distrust  of  civilization.  We  are  never 
weary  of  proclaiming  the  enormous  gain  it  has  brought  to 
manners,  to  morals,  and  to  intellect ;  but  there  is  a  wide 


AND   CIVILIZATION.         109 

ppread  impression  that  the  benefit  is  purchased  by  a  cor- 
responding physical  decay.  This  alarm  has  had  its  best 
statement  from  Emerson.  "  Society  never  advances.  It 

recedes  as  fast  on  one  side  as  it  gains  on  the  other 

What  a  contrast  between  the  well-clad,  reading,  writing, 
thinking  American,  with  a  watch,  a  pencil,  and  a  bill  of 
exchange  in  his  pocket,  and  the  naked  New-Zealander, 
whose  property  is  a  club,  a  spear,  a  mat,  and  the  undi- 
vided twentieth  part  of  a  shed  to  sleep  under !  But  com- 
pare the  health  of  the  two  men,  and  you  shall  see  that  his 
aboriginal  strength  the  white  man  has  lost.  If  the  trav- 
eller tell  us  truly,  strike  the  savage  with  a  broad-axe,  and 
in  a  day  or  two  the  flesh  shall  unite  and  heal  as  if  you 
struck  the  blow  into  soft  pitch ;  and  the  same  blow  shall 
send  the  white  man  to  his  grave." 

Were  this  true,  the  fact  would  be  fatal.  Man  is  a  pro- 
gressive being,  only  on  condition  that  he  begin  at  the 
beginning.  He  can  afford  to  wait  centuries  for  a  brain, 
but  he  cannot  subsist  a  second  without  a  body.  If  civili- 
zation sacrifice  the  physical  thus  hopelessly  to  the  mental, 
and  barbarism  merely  sacrifice  the  mental  to  the  physical, 
then  barbarism  is  unquestionably  the  better  thing,  so  far 
as  it  goes,  because  it  provides  the  essential  preliminary 
conditions.  Barbarism  is  a  one-story  log-hut,  a  poor  thing, 
but  better  than  nothing;  while  such  a  civilization  would  be 
simply  a  second  story,  with  a  first  story  too  weak  to  sustain 
it,  a  magnificent  sky-parlor,  with  all  heaven  in  view  from 
the  upper  windows,  but  with  the  whole  family  coming 
down  in  a  crash  presently,  through  a  fatal  neglect  of  the 
basement.  In  such  a  view,  an  American  Indian  or  a 
Kaffir  warrior  may  be  a  wholesome  object,  good  for  some- 
thing already,  and  for  much  more  when  he  gets  a  brain 
built  on.  But  when  one  sees  a  bookworm  in  his  library, 


110        BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION. 

an  anxious  merchant-prince  in  his  counting-room,  totter- 
ing feebly  about,  his  thin  underpinning  scarcely  able  to 
support  what  he  has  already  crammed  into  that  heavy 
brain  of  his,  and  he  still  piling  in  more,  —  ono  feels  dis- 
posed to  cry  out,  "  Unsafe  passing  here  !  Stand  from 
under ! " 

Sydney  Smith,  in  his  "  Moral  Philosophy,"  has  also  put 
strongly  this  case  of  physiological  despair.  "  Nothing  ciui 
be  plainer  than  that  a  life  of  society  is  unfavorable  to  all 

the  animal  powers  of  men A  Choctaw  could  run 

from  here  to  Oxford  without  stopping.  I  go  in  the  mail- 
coach  ;  and  the  time  the  savage  has  employed  in  learning 
to  run  so  fast  I  have  employed  in  learning  something 
useful.  It  would  not  only  be  useless  in  me  to  run  like 
a  Choctaw,  but  foolish  and  disgraceful."  But  one  may 
well  suppose,  that,  if  the  jovial  divine  had  kept  himself  in 
training  for  this  disgraceful  lost  art  of  running,  his  diary 
might  not  have  recorded  the  habit  of  lying  two  hours  in 
bed  in  the  morning,  "  dawdling  and  doubting,"  as  he  says, 
or  the  fact  of  his  having  "  passed  the  whole  day  in  an 
unpleasant  state  of  body,  produced  by  laziness  "  ;  and  he 
might  not  have  been  compelled  to  invent  for  himself  that 
amazing  rheumatic  armor,  —  a  pair  of  tin  boots,  a  tin 
collar,  a  tin  helmet,  and  a  tin  shoulder-of-mutton  over 
each  of  his  natural  shoulders,  all  duly  filled  with  boiling 
water,  and  worn  in  patience  by  the  sedentary  Sydney. 

It  is  also  to  be  remembered  that  this  statement  was 
made  in  1805,  when  England  and  Germany  were  both 
waking  up  to  a  revival  of  physical  training,  —  if  we  may 
trust  Sir  John  Sinclair  in  the  one  case,  and  Salzmann 
in  the  other,  —  such  as  America  is  experiencing  now. 
Many  years  afterwards,  Sydney  Smith  wrote  to  hia 
brother,  that  "  a  working  senator  should  lead  the  life 


BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION.         HI 

of  an  athlete."  But  supposing  the  fact  still  true,  that  an 
average  red  man  can  run,  and  an  average  white  man 
cannot,  —  who  does  not  see  that  it  is  the  debility,  not  the 
performance,  which  is  discreditable?  Setting  aside  the 
substantial  advantages  of  strength  and  activity,  there  is  a 
melancholy  loss  of  self-respect  in  buying  cultivation  for 
the  brain  by  resigning  the  proper  vigor  of  the  body. 
Let  men  say  what  they  please,  they  all  demand  a  life 
which  shall  be  whole  and  sound  throughout,  and  there  is 
a  drawback  upon  all  gifts  that  are  paid  for  in  infirmities. 
There  is  no  thorough  satisfaction  in  art  or  intellect,  if  we 
yet  feel  ashamed  before  the  Indian  because  we  cannot 
run,  and  before  the  South-Sea  Islander  because  we  can- 
not swim.  Give  us  a  total  culture,  and  a  success  without 
any  discount  of  shame.  After  all,  one  feels  a  certain 
justice  in  Warburton's  story  of  the  Guinea  trader,  in 
Spence's  Anecdotes.  Mr.  Pope  was  with  Sir  Godfrey 
Kneller  one  day,  when  his  nephew,  a  Guinea  trader, 
came  in.  "  Nephew,"  said  Sir  Godfrey,  "  you  have  the 
honor  of  seeing  the  two  greatest  men  in  the  world."  "  I 
don't  know  how  great  you  may  be,"  said  the  Guinea-man, 
"  but  I  don't  like  your  looks  ;  I  have  often  bought  a  man, 
much  better  than  both  of  you  together,  all  muscles  and 
bones,  for  ten  guineas." 

Fortunately  for  the  hopes  of  man,  the  alarm  is  un- 
founded. The  advance  of  accurate  knowledge  dispels  it. 
Civilization  is  cultivation,  whole  cultivation  ;  and  even  in 
its  present  imperfect  state,  it  not  only  permits  physical 
training,  but  promotes  it.  The  traditional  glory  of  the 
savage  body  is  yielding  before  medical  statistics :  it  is  be- 
coming evident  that  the  average  barbarian,  observed  from 
the  cradle  to  the  grave,  does  not  know  enough  and  is  not 
rich  enough  to  keep  h'is  body  in  its  highest  condition,  but, 


112         BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION. 

on  the  contrary,  is  small  and  sickly  and  short-lived  and 
weak,  compared  with  the  man  of  civilization.  The  great 
athletes  of  the  world  have  been  civilized ;  the  long-lived 
men  have  heen  civilized ;  the  powerful  armies  have  been 
civilized ;  and  the  average  of  life,  health,  size,  and 
strength  is  highest  to-day  among  those  races  where 
knowledge  and  wealth  and  comfort  are  most  widely 
spread.  And  yet,  by  the  common  lamentation,  one 
would  suppose  that  all  civilization  is  a  slow  suicide  of 
the  race,  and  that  refinement  and  culture  are  to  leave 
man  at  last  in  a  condition  like  that  of  the  little  cherub? 
on  old  tombstones,  all  head  and  wings. 

It  must  be  owned  that  the  delusion  has  all  the  supersti- 
tions of  history  in  its  favor,  and  only  the  facts  against  it 
If  we  may  trust  tradition,  the  race  has  undoubtedly  beei 
tapering  down  from  century  to  century  since  the  Creation, 
so  that  the  original  Adam  must  have  been  more  than 
twice  the  size  of  the  "Webster  statue.  However  far  back 
we  go,  admiring  memory  looks  farther.  Homer  and  Vir- 
gil never  let  their  hero  throw  a  stone  without  reminding 
us  that  modern  heroes  only  live  in  glass  houses,  to  have 
stones  thrown  at  them.  Lucretius  and  Juvenal  chant  the 
same  lament.  Xenophon,  mourning  the  march  of  luxury 
among  the  Persians,  says  that  modern  effeminacy  has 
reached  such  a  pitch,  that  men  have  even  devised  cover- 
ings for  their  fingers,  called  gloves.  Herodotus  narrates, 
that,  when  Cambyses  sent  ambassadors  to  the  Macrobians, 
they  asked  what  the  Persians  had  to  eat,  and  how  long 
they  commonly  lived.  He  was  told  that  they  sometimes 
attained  the  age  of  eighty,  and  that  they  ate  a  mass  of 
crushed  grain,  which  they  termed  bread.  On  this,  they 
said  that  it  was  no  wonder  if  the  Persians  died  young, 
when  they  partook  of  such  rubbish,  and  that  probably 


BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION.         113 

they  would  not  survive  even  so  long,  but  for  the  wine 
they  drank  ;  while  the  Macrobians  lived  on  flesh  and 
milk,  and  survived  one  hundred  and  twenty  years. 

But,  unfortunately,  there  were  no  Life  Insurance  Com- 
panies among  the  Macrobians,  and  therefore  nothing  to 
bring  down  this  formidable  average  to  a  reliable  schedule, 
—  such  as  accurately  informs  every  modern  man  how 
long  he  may  live  honestly,  without  defrauding  either  his 
relict  or  his  insurers.  We  know,  moreover,  precisely 
what  Dr.  Windship  can  lift,  at  any  given  date,  and  what 
the  rest  of  us  cannot ;  but  Homer  and  Virgil  never 
weighed  the  stones  which  their  heroes  threw,  nor  even 
the  words  in  which  they  described  the  process.  It  is  a 
matter  of  certainty  that  all  great  exploits  are  severely 
tested  by  Fairbanks's  scales  and  stop-watches.  It  is  won- 
derful how  many  persons,  in  the  remoter  districts,  assure 
the  newspaper-editors  of  their  ability  to  lift  twelve  hun- 
dred pounds  ;  and  many  a  young  oarsman  can  prove  to 
you  that  he  has  pulled  his  mile  faster  than  Ward  or 
Clark,  if  you  will  only  let  him  give  his  own  guess  at  time 
and  distance. 

It  is  easy,  therefore,  to  trace  the  origin  of  these  exag- 
gerations. Those  old  navigators,  for  instance,  who  saw 
so  many  fine  things  which  were  not  to  be  seen,  how 
should  they  help  peopling  the  barbarous  realms  with 
races  of  giants  ?  Job  Hartop,  who  three  times  observed 
a  merman  rise  above  water  to  his  waist,  near  the  Ber- 
mudas, —  Harris,  who  endured  such  terrific  cold  in  the 
Antarctics,  that  once,  perilously  blowing  his  nose  with 
his  fingers,  it  flew  into  the  fire  and  was  seen  no  more,  — 
Knyvett,  who,  in  the  same  regions,  pulled  off  his  frozen 
stockings,  and  his  toes  with  them,  but  had  them  replaced 
by  the  ship's  surgeon,  —  of  course  these  men  saw  giants, 


114        BARBARISM  AND  CIVILIZATION. 

and  it  is  only  a  matter  for  gratitude  that  they  vouchsafed 
us  dwarfs  also,  to  keep  up  some  remains  of  self-respect 
in  us.  In  Magellan's  Straits,  for  instance,  they  saw,  on 
one  side,  from  three  to  four  thousand  pygmies  with  mouths 
from  ear  to  ear ;  while  on  the  other  shore  they  saw  giants 
whose  footsteps  were  four  times  as  large  as  an  English- 
man's, —  which  was  a  strong  expression,  considering  that 
the  Englishman's  footstep  had  already  reached  round  the 
globe. 

The  only  way  to  test  these  earlier  observations  is  by 
later  ones.  For  instance,  in  the  year  1772,  a  Dutchman 
named  Roggewein  discovered  Easter  Island.  His  expe- 
dition had  cost  the  government  a  good  deal,  and  he  had 
to  bring  home  his  money's  worth  of  discoveries.  Accord- 
ingly, his  islanders  were  all  giants,  —  twice  as  tall,  he 
said,  as  the  tallest  of  the  Europeans  ;  "  they  measured, 
one  with  another,  the  height  of  twelve  feet ;  so  that  we 
could  easily,  —  who  will  not  wonder  at  it  ?  —  without 
stooping,  have  passed  between  the  legs  of  these  sons  of 
Goliah.  According  to  their  height,  so  is  their  thickness." 
Moreover,  he  "  puts  down  nothing  but  the  real  truth,  and 
upon  the  nicest  inspection,"  and,  to  exhibit  this  caution, 
warns  us  that  it  would  be  wrong  to  rate  the  women  of 
diose  regions  as  high  as  the  men,  they  being,  as  he  pity- 
ingly owns,  "  commonly  not  above  ten  or  eleven  feet." 
Sweet  young  creatures  they  must  have  appeared,  belle 
and  steeple  in  one.  And  it  was  certainly  a  great  disap- 
pointment to  Captain  Cook,  when,  on  visiting  the  same 
island,  fifty  years  later,  he  could  not  find  man  or  woman 
more  than  six  feet  tall.  Thus  ended  the  tale  of  this  Fly- 
ing Dutchman. 

Thus  lamentably  have  the  inhabitants  of  Patagonia 
been  also  dwindling,  though  there,  if  anywhere,  still  lies 


BARBARISM  AND  CIVILIZATION.         115 

the  Cape  of  Bad  Hope  for  the  apostles  of  human  degen- 
eracy. Pigafetta  originally  estimated  them  at  twelve 
feet.  In  the  time  of  Commodore  Byron,  they  had  already 
grown  downward ;  yet  he  said  of  them  that,  they  were 
"  enormous  goblins,"  seven  feet  high,  every  one  of  them. 
One  of  his  officers,  however,  writing  an  independent  nar- 
rative, seemed  to  think  this  a  needless  concession ;  he  ad- 
mits, indeed,  that  the  women  were  not,  perhaps,  more  than 
seven  feet,  or  seven  and  a  half,  or,  it  might  be,  eight, 
"  but  the  men  were,  for  the  most  part,  about  nine  feet 
high,  and  very  often  more."  Lieutenant  Gumming,  he 
said,  being  but  six  feet  two,  appeared  a  mere  pygmy 
among  them.  But  it  seem?,  that,  in  after-times,  on  some 
one's  questioning  this  diminutive  lieutenant  as  to  the  ac- 
tual size  of  these  enormous  goblins,  the  veteran  frankly 
confessed,  that,  "  had  it  been  anywhere  else  but  in  Pata- 
gonia, he  should  have  called  them  good  sturdy  savages, 
and  thought  no  more  on't." 

But,  these  facts  apart,  there  are  certain  general  truths 
which  look  ominous  for  the  reputation  of  the  physique  of 
savage  tribes. 

First,  they  cannot  keep  the  race  alive,  they  are  always 
tending  to  decay.  When  first  encountered  by  civiliza- 
tion, they  usually  tell  stories  of  their  own  decline  in 
numbers,  and  after  that  the  downward  movement  is  accel- 
erated. They  are  poor,  ignorant,  improvident,  oppressed 
by  others'  violence,  or  exhausted  by  their  own  ;  war  kills 
them,  infanticide  and  abortion  cut  them  off  before  they 
reach  the  age  of  war,  pestilences  sweep  them  away,  whole 
tribes  perish  by  famine  and  small-pox.  Under  the  stern 
climate  of  the  Esquimaux  and  the  soft  skies  of  Tahiti,  the 
same  decline  is  seen.  Parkman  estimates  that  in  1763 
the  whole  number  of  Indians  east  of  the  Mississippi  was 


116         BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION. 

but  ten  thousand,  and  they  were  already  mourning  their 
own  decay.  Travellers  seldom  visit  a  savage  country 
without  remarking  on  the  scarcity  of  aged  people  and  of 
young  children.  Lewis  and  Clarke,  Mackenzie,  Alexan- 
der Henry,  observed  this  among  Indian  tribes  never  be- 
fore visited  by  white  men  ;  Dr.  Kane  remarked  it  among 
the  Esquimaux,  D'Azara  among  the  Indians  of  South 
America,  and  many  travellers  in  the  South-Sea  Islands 
and  even  in  Africa,  though  the  black  man  apparently 
takes  more  readily  to  civilization  than  any  other  race,  and 
then  develops  a  terrible  vitality,  as  American  politicians 
find  to  their  cost. 

Meanwhile,  the  hardships  which  thus  decimate  the 
tribe  toughen  the  survivors,  and  sometimes  give  them  an 
apparent  advantage  over  civilized  men.  The  savaged 
whom  one  encounters  are  necessarily  the  picked  men  of 
the  race,  and  the  observer  takes  no  census  of  the  mul- 
titudes who  have  perished  in  the  process.  Civilization 
keeps  alive,  in  every  generation,  large  numbers  who 
would  otherwise  die  prematurely.  These  millions  of  in- 
valids do  not  owe  to  civilization  their  diseases,  but  their 
lives.  It  is  painful  that  your  sick  friend  should  live  on 
Cherry  Pectoral ;  but  if  he  had  been  born  in  barbarism, 
he  would  neither  have  had  it  to  drink  nor  survived  to 
drink  it. 

And  again,  it  is  now  satisfactorily  demonstrated  that 
these  picked  survivors  of  savage  life  are  commonly  suffer- 
ing under  the  same  diseases  with  their  civilized  compeers, 
and  show  less  vital  power  to  resist  them.  In  barbarous 
nations  every  foreigner  is  taken  for  a  physician,  and  the 
first  demand  is  for  medicines  ;  if  not  the  right  medicines, 
then  the  wrong  ones ;  if  no  medicines  are  at  hand,  the 
written  prescription,  administered  internally,  is  sometimes 


BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION.         117 

found  a  desirable  restorative.  The  earliest  missionaries 
to  the  South-Sea  Islands  found  ulcers  and  dropsy  and 
humpbacks  there  before  them.  The  English  Bishop  of 
New  Zealand,  landing  on  a  lone  islet  where  no  ship  had 
ever  touched,  found  the  whole  population  prostrate  with 
influenza.  Lewis  and  Clarke,  the  first  explorers  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  found  Indian  warriors  ill  with  fever 
and  dysentery,  rheumatism  and  paralysis,  and  Indian 
women  in  hysterics.  "  The  toothache,"  said  Roger  Wil- 
liams of  the  New  England  tribes,  "  is  the  only  paine 
which  will  force  their  stoute  hearts  to  cry";  even  the 
Indian  women,  he  says,  never  cry  as  he  has  heard  "  some 
of  their  men  in  this  paine  "  ;  but  Lewis  and  Clarke  found 
whole  tribes  who  had  abolished  this  source  of  tears  in  the 
civilized  manner,  by  having  no  teeth  left.  We  complain 
of  our  weak  eyes  as  a  result  of  civilized  habits,  and 
Tennyson,  in  "  Locksley  Hall,"  wishes  his  children  bred 
in  some  savage  land,  "  not  with  blinded  eyesight  poring 
over  miserable  books."  But  savage  life  seems  more  inju- 
rious to  the  organs  of  vision  than  even  the  type  of  a  cheap 
edition  ;  for  the  most  vigorous  barbarians  —  on  the  prai- 
ries, in  Southern  archipelagos,  on  African  deserts  —  suffer 
more  from  different  forms  of  ophthalmia  than  from  any 
other  disease ;  without  knowing  the  alphabet,  they  have 
worse  eyes  than  if  they  were  professors,  and  have  not 
even  the  melancholy  consolation  of  spectacles. 

Again,  the  savage  cannot,  as  a  general  rule,  endure 
transplantation,  —  he  cannot  thrive  in  the  country  of  the 
civilized  man  ;  whereas  the  latter,  with  time  for  training, 
can  equal  or  excel  him  in  strength  and  endurance  on  his 
own  ground.  As  it  is  known  that  the  human  race  gen- 
erally can  endure  a  greater  variety  of  climate  than  the 
hardiest  of  the  lower  animals,  so  it  is  with  the  man  of 


118         BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION. 

civilization,  when  compared  with  the  barbarian.  Kane, 
when  he  had  once  learned  how  to  live  in  the  Esquimaux 
country,  lived  better  than  the  Esquimaux  themselves ; 
and  he  says  expressly,  that  "  their  powers  of  resistance 
are  no  greater  than  those  of  well-trained  voyagers  from 
other  lands."  Richardson,  Parkyns,  Johnstone,  give  it  as 
their  opinion,  that  the  European,  once  acclimated,  bears 
the  heat  of  the  African  deserts  better  than  the  native 
negro.  "  These  Christians  are  devils,"  say  the  Arabs  ; 
"  they  can  endure  both  cold  and  heat."  "What  are  the 
Bedouins  to  the  Zouaves,  who  unquestionably  would  be 
as  formidable  in  Lapland  as  in  Algiers  ?  Nay,  in  the 
very  climates  where  the  natives  are  fading  away,  the  civ- 
ilized foreigner  multiplies ;  thus,  the  strong  New-Zea- 
landers  do  not  average  two  children  to  a  family,  while 
the  households  of  the  English  colonists  are  larger  than 
at  home,  —  which  is  saying  a  good  deal. 

Most  formidable  of  all  is  the  absence  of  all  recupera- 
tive power  in  the  savage  who  rejects  civilization.  No 
effort  of  will  improves  his  condition  ;  he  sees  his  race 
dying  out,  and  he  can  only  drink  and  forget  it.  But  the 
civilized  man  has  an  immense  capacity  for  self-restora- 
tion ;  he  can  make  mistakes  and  correct  them  again,  sin 
and  repent,  sink  and  rise.  Instinct  can  only  prevent ; 
science  can  cure  in  one  generation,  and  prevent  in  the 
next.  It  is  known  that  some  twenty  years  ago  a  thrill  of 
horror  shot  through  all  Anglo-Saxondom  at  the  reported 
physical  condition  of  the  operatives  in  English  mines  and 
factories.  It  is  not  so  generally  known,  that,  by  a  recent 
statement  of  the  medical  inspector  of  factories,  there  is 
declared  to  have  been  a  most  astounding  renovation  of 
female  health  in  such  establishments  throughout  all  Eng- 
land since  that  time,  —  the  simple  result  of  sanitary  laws. 


BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION.         119 

What  science  has  done  science  can  do.  Everybody  knows 
which  symptom  of  American  physical  decline  is  habitually 
quoted  as  most  alarming ;  one  seldom  sees  a  dentist  who 
does  not  despair  of  the  republic.  Yet  this  calamity  is 
nothing  new ;  the  elder  branch  of  our  race  has  been 
through  that  epidemic,  and  outlived  it.  In  the  robust 
days  of  Queen  Bess,  the  teeth  of  the  court  ladies  were 
habitually  so  black  and  decayed,  that  foreigners  used  con- 
stantly to  ask  if  Englishwomen  ate  nothing  but  sugar. 
Hentzner,  who  visited  the  country  in  1697,  speaks  of  the 
same  calamity  as  common  among  the  English  of  all  classes. 
Two  centuries  and  a  half  have  removed  the  stigma,  —  im- 
proved physical  habits  have  put  fresh  pearls  between  the 
lips  of  all  England  now  ;  and  there  seems  no  reason  why 
we  Americans  may  not  yet  be  healthy,  in  spite  of  our 
teeth. 

Thus  much  for  general  considerations ;  let  us  come  now 
to  more  specific  tests,  beginning  with  the  comparison  of 
size.  The  armor  of  the  knights  of  the  Middle  Ages  is  too 
small  for  their  modern  descendants :  Hamilton  Smith 
records  that  two  Englishmen  of  average  dimensions  found 
no  suit  large  enough  to  fit  them  in  the  great  collection  of 
Sir  Samuel  Meyrick.  The  Oriental  sabre  will  not  admit 
the  English  hand,  nor  the  bracelet  of  the  Kaffir  warrior  the 
English  arm.  The  swords  found  in  Roman  tumuli  have 
handles  inconveniently  small ;  and  the  great  mediaeval 
two-handed  sword  is  now  supposed  to  have  been  used 
only  for  one  or  two  blows  at  the  first  onset,  and  then  ex- 
changed for  a  smaller  one.  The  statements  given  by 
Homer,  Aristotle,  and  Vitruvius  represent  six  feet  as  » 
high  standard  for  full-grown  men  ;  and  the  irrefutable 
evidence  of  the  ancient  door-ways,  bedsteads,  and  tombs 
proves  the  average  size  of  the  race  to  have  certainly  not 


120         BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION. 

diminished  in  modern  days.  The  gigantic  bones  have  all 
turned  out  to  be  animal  remains;  even  the  skeleton  twen- 
ty-five feet  high  and  ten  feet  broad,  which  one  savant 
wrote  a  book  called  "  Gigantosteologia  "  to  prove  human, 
and  another,  a  counter-argument,  called  "  Gigantomachia," 
to  prove  animal,  —  neither  of  the  philosophers  taking  the 
trouble  to  draw  a  single  fragment  of  the  fossil.  The 
enormous  savage  races  have  turned  out,  as  has-been 
shown,  to  be  travellers'  tales,  —  even  the  Patagonians 
being  brought  down  to  an  average  of  five  feet  ten  inches, 
and  being,  moreover,  only  a  part  of  a  race,  the  Abipones, 
of  which  the  other  families  are  smaller.  Indeed,  we  can 
all  learn  by  our  own  experience  how  irresistible  is  the 
tendency  of  the  imagination  to  attribute  vast  proportions 
to  all  hardy  and  warlike  tribes.  Most  persons  fancy  the 
Scottish  Highlanders,  for  instance,  to  have  been  a  race  of 
giants ;  yet  Charles  Edward  was  said  to  be  taller  than 
any  man  in  his  Highland  army,  and  his  height  was  but 
five  feet  nine.  We  have  the  same  impression  in  regard 
to  our  own  Aborigines.  Yet,  when  first,  upon  the  prairies 
of  Nebraska,  I  came  in  sight  of  a  tribe  of  genuine,  una- 
dulterated Indians,  with  no  possession  on  earth  but  a  bow 
and  arrow  and  a  bear-skin,  —  bare-skin  in  a  double  sense, 
I  might  add,  —  my  instinctive  exclamation  was,  "  What 
race  of  dwarfs  is  this  ?  "  They  were  the  descendants  of 
the  glorious  Pawnees  of  Cooper,  the  heroes  of  every  boy's 
imagination ;  yet,  excepting  the  three  chiefs,  who  were 
noble-looking  men  of  six  feet  in  height,  the  tallest  of  the 
tribe  could  not  have  measured  five  feet  six  inches. 

The  most  careful  investigations  give  the  same  results 
in  respect  to  physical  strength.  Early  travellers  among 
our  Indians,  as  Hearne  and  Mackenzie,  and  early  mis- 
sionaries to  the  South-Sea  Islands,  as  Ellis,  report  athletic 


BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION.         121 

contests  in  which  the  natives  could  not  equal  the  bet- 
ter-fed, better-clothed,  better-trained  Europeans.  When 
the  French  savans.  Peron,  Regnier,  Ransonnet,  carried 
their  dynamometers  to  the  islands  of  the  Indian  Ocean, 
they  found  with  surprise  that  an  average  English  sailor 
was  forty -two  per  cent  stronger,  and  an  average  French- 
man thirty  per  cent  stronger,  than  the  strongest  island 
tribe  they  visited.  Even  in  comparing  different  European 
races,  it  is  undeniable  that  bodily  strength  goes  with  the 
highest  civilization.  It  is  recorded  in  Robert  Stephen- 
son's  Life,  that,  when  the  English  "  navvies "  were  em- 
ployed upon  the  Paris  and  Boulogne  Railway,  they  used 
spades  and  barrows  just  twice  the  size  of  those  employed 
by  their  Continental  rivals,  and  were  regularly  paid 
double.  Quetelet's  experiments  with  the  dynamometer 
on  university  students  showed  the  same  results :  first 
ranked  the  Englishman,  then  the  Frenchman,  then  the 
Belgian,  then  the  Russian,  then  the  Southern  European ; 
for  those  races  of  Southern  Europe  which  once  ruled  the 
Eastern  and  the  Western  worlds  by  physical  and  mental 
power  have  lost  in  strength  as  they  have  paused  in  civ- 
ilization,  and  the  easy  victories  of  our  armies  in  Mexico 
show  us  the  result. 

It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  the  observations  on  this 
subject  are  yet  very  imperfect ;  and  the  only  thing  to  be 
claimed  is,  that  they  all  point  one  way.  So  far  as  abso- 
lute statistical  tables  go,  the  above-named  French  ob- 
servations have  till  recently  stood  almost  alone,  and  have 
been  the  main  reliance.  The  just  criticism  has,  however, 
been  made,  that  the  subjects  of  these  experiments  were 
the  inhabitants  of  New  Holland  and  Van  Diemen's  Land, 
by  no  means  the  strongest  instances  on  the  side  of  bar- 
barism. It  is,  therefore,  fortunate  that  the  French  tables 
6 


122         BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION. 

have  now  been  superseded  by  some  more  important  com- 
parisons, accurately  made  by  A.  S.  Thomson,  M.  D., 
Surgeon  of  the  Fifty-Eighth  Regiment  of  the  British 
Army,  and  printed  in  the  seventeenth  volume  of  the 
Journal  of  the  London  Statistical  Society. 

The  observations  were  made  in  New  Zealand,  —  Dr. 
Thomson  being  stationed  there  with  his  regiment,  and 
being  charged  with  the  duty  of  vaccinating  all  natives 
employed  by  the  government.  The  islanders  thus  used 
for  experiment  were  to  some  extent  picked  men,  as  none 
but  able-bodied  persons  would  have  been  selected  for 
employ,  and  as  they  were,  moreover,  (he  states,)  accus- 
tomed to  lifting  burdens,  and  better-fed  than  the  majority 
of  their  countrymen.  The  New  Zealand  race,  as  a  whole, 
is  certainly  a  very  favorable  type  of  barbarism,  having 
but  just  emerged  from  an  utterly  savage  condition,  having 
been  cannibals  within  one  generation,  and  being  the  very 
identical  people  among  whom  were  recorded  those  wonder- 
ful cures  of  flesh-wounds  to  which  Emerson  has  referred. 
Cook  and  all  oth^r  navigators  have  praised  their  robust 
physical  aspect,  and  they  undoubtedly,  with  the  Fijians 
and  the  Tongans,  stand  at  the  head  of  all  island  races. 
They  are  admitted  to  surpass  our  American  Indians,  as 
well  as  the  Kaffirs  and  the  Joloffs,  probably  the  finest 
African  races ;  and  an  accurate  comparison  between  New- 
Zealanders  and  Anglo-Saxons  will,  therefore,  approach  as 
near  to  an  experimentum  crucis  as  any  single  set  of  ob- 
servations can.  The  following  tables  have  been  carefully 
prepared  from  those  of  Dr.  Thomson,  with  the  addition  of 
some  scanty  facts  from  other  sources,  —  scanty,  because, 
as  Quetelet  indignantly  observes,  less  pains  have  as  yet 
been  taken  to  measure  accurately  the  physical  powers  of 
man  than  those  of  any  machine  he  has  constructed  or  any 
animal  he  has  tamed. 


BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION.        123 


TABLE. 

HEIGHT.  No. 

New-Zealanders    .... 

Students  at  Edinburgh  .  •  " 

Class  of  1860.    Cambridge  (Mass.)       . 
Students  at  Cambridge  (Eng.) 

WEIGHT. 

New-Zealanders          .  . 

Soldiers  68th  Regiment    . 

Class  of  1860.    Cambridge  (Mass.)  . 

Students  at  Cambridge  (Eng.)     . 

Men  weighed  at  Boston  (U.  S.)  Mechanics 

Fair,  1860        .... 
Englishmen  (Dr.  Thomson)    . 
Cambridge,  Eng.  (a  newspaper  statement)    — — 
Revolutionary  officers  at  West  Point,  August 

10, 1778,  given  in  "  Milledulcia,"  p.  278     11 

AREA  OF  CHEST. 

New-Zealanders    .  .  .  .151 

Soldiers  68th  Regiment          .  .  .828 

STRENGTH  IN  LIFTING. 

New-Zealanders    .  .  . 

Students  at  Edinburgh,  aged  25 
Soldiers  58th  Regiment    . 


.  meatur* 

>d.    Average. 

147 

6  feet  6|  inches. 

800 

5  **   **^K   ** 

106 

6  "  7|   " 

80 

6  "  81   " 

146 

140  pounds. 

1778 

142   «• 

106 

142$  " 

80 

148   « 

4869 

146|  " 

2648 

148   " 



161   * 

31 


226      • 

86.86  inches. 
85.71      " 

867  pounds. 
416      " 
422      " 


NOTE.  —  The  range  of  strength  among  the  New-Zealanders  was  from 
250  pounds  to  420  pounds;  among  the  soldiers,  from  850  pounds  to 
504  pounds. 

But  it  is  the  test  of  longevity  which  exhibits  the  great- 
est triumph  for  civilization,  because  here  the  life-insurance 
tables  furnish  ample,  though  comparatively  recent  sta- 
tistics. Of  course,  in  legendary  ages  all  lives  were  of 
enormous  length ;  and  the  Hindoos  in  their  sacred  books 
attribute  to  their  progenitors  a  career  of  forty  million 
years  or  thereabouts,  —  what  may  safely  be  termed  a  ripe 
old  age ;  for  if  a  man  were  still  unripe  after  celebrating 
his  forty-millionth  birthday,  he  might  as  well  give  it  up. 
But  from  the  beginning  of  accurate  statistics  we  know 
that  the  duration  of  life  in  any  nation  is  a  fair  index  of 


124        BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION. 

its  progress  in  civilization.  Quetelet  gives  statistics,  mv>re 
or  less  reliable,  from  every  nation  of  Northern  Europe, 
showing  a  gain  of  ten  to  twenty-five  per  cent  during  the 
last  century.  Where  the  tables  are  most  carefully  pre- 
pared, the  result  is  least  equivocal.  Thus,  in  Geneva, 
where  accurate  registers  have  been  kept  for  three  hun- 
dred years,  it  seems  that  from  1560  to  1600  the  average 
lifetime  of  the  citizens  was  twenty-one  years  and  two 
months ;  in  the  next  century,  twenty-five  years  and  nine 
months ;  in  the  century  following,  thirty-two  years  and 
nine  months  ;  and  in  the  year  1833,  forty  years  and  five 
months  ;  thus  nearly  doubling  the  average  age  of  man  in 
Geneva  within  those  three  centuries  of  social  progress. 
In  France,  it  is  estimated,  that,  in  spite  of  revolutions 
and  Napoleons,  human  life  has  been  gaining  at  the  rate 
of  two  months  a  year  for  nearly  a  century.  By  a  manu- 
script of  the  fourteenth  century,  moreover,  it  is  shown 
that  the  rate  of  mortality  in  Paris  was  then  one  in  six- 
teen, —  one  person  dying  annually  to  every  sixteen  of  the 
inhabitants.  It  is  now  one  in  thirty-two,  —  a  gain  of  a 
hundred  per  cent  in  five  hundred  years.  In  England  the 
progress  has  been  far  more  rapid.  The  rate  of  mortality 
in  1690  was  one  in  thirty-three;  in  1780  it  was  one  in 
forty  ;  and  it  stands  now  at  one  in  sixty,  —  the  healthiest 
condition  in  Europe,  —  while  in  half-barbarous  Russia 
the  rate  of  mortality  is  one  in  twenty-seven.  It  would 
be  easy  to  multiply  these  statistics  to  any  extent ;  but. 
they  all  point  one  way,  and  no  medical  statistician  now 
pretends  to  oppose  the  dictum  of  Hufeland,  that  "  a  cer- 
tain degree  of  culture  is  physically  necessary  for  man, 
and  promotes  duration  of  life." 

The  simple  result  is,  that  the  civilized  man  is  physically 
superior  to  the  barbarian.    There  is  now  no  evidence  that 


BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION.         125 

there  exists  in  any  part  of  the  world  a  savage  race  who, 
taken  as  a  whole,  surpass  or  even  equal  the  Anglo-Saxon 
type  in  average  physical  condition ;  as  there  is  also  none 
among  whom  the  President  elect  of  the  United  States 
and  the  Commander-in-chief  of  his  armies  would  not  be 
regarded  as  remarkably  tall  men,  and  Dr.  Windship  as  a 
remarkably  strong  one.  "  It  is  now  well  known,"  says 
Prichard,  "  that  all  savage  races  have  less  muscular 
power  than  civilized  men."  Johnstone  in  Northern  Af- 
rica, and  Gumming  in  Southern  Africa,  could  find  no  one 
to  equal  them  in  strength  of  arm.  At  the  Sandwich 
Islands,  Ellis  records,  that,  "when  a  boat  manned  by 
English  seamen  and  a  canoe  with  natives  left  the  shore 
together,  the  canoe  would  uniformly  leave  the  boat  be- 
hind, but  they  would  soon  relax,  while  the  seamen,  pull- 
ing steadily  on,  would  pass  them,  but,  if  the  voyage  took 
three  hours,  would  invariably  reach  the  destination  first." 
Certain  races  may  have  been  regularly  trained  by  posi- 
tion and  necessity  in  certain  particular  arts,  —  as  Sand- 
wich-Islanders in  swimming,  and  our  Indians  in  running, 
—  and  may  naturally  surpass  the  average  skill  of  those 
who  are  comparatively  out  of  practice  in  that  speciality ; 
yet  it  is  remarkable  that  their  greatest  feats  even  in  these 
ways  never  seem  to  surpass  those  achieved  by  picked 
specimens  of  civilization.  The  best  Indian  runners  could 
only  equal  Lewis  and  Clarke's  men,  and  Indians  have 
been  repeatedly  beaten  in  prize-races  within  the  last  few 
years ;  while  the  most  remarkable  aquatic  feat  on  record 
is  probably  that  of  Mr.  Atkins  of  Liverpool,  who  recently 
dived  to  a  depth  of  two  hundred  and  thirty  feet,  reappear- 
ing above  water  in  one  minute  and  eleven  seconds. 

In  the  wilderness  and  on  the  prairies  we  find  a  fre- 
quent impression  that  cultivation  and  refinement  must 


126         BIWARISH  AND   CIVILIZATION. 

weaken  the  race.  Not  at  all ;  they  simply  domesticate  it. 
Domestication  is  tiot  weakness.  A  strong  hand  does  not 
become  less  muscular  under  a  kid  glove  ;  and  a  man  who 
is  a  hero  in  a  red  shirt  will  also  be  a  hero  in  a  white  one. 
Civilization,  imperfect  as  it  is,  has  already  procured  for 
us  better  food,  better  air,  and  better  behavior  ;  it  gives  us 
physical  training  on  system  ;  and  its  mental  training,  by 
refiqing  the  nervous  organization,  makes  the  same  quan- 
tity of  muscular  power  go  much  farther.  The  young 
English  ensigns  and  lieutenants,  who  at  Waterloo  (in  the 
words  of  Wellington)  "  rushed  to  meet  death  as  if  it  were 
a  game  of  cricket,"  were  the  fruit  of  civilization.  They 
were  representatives,  indeed,  of  the  aristocracy  of  their 
nation  ;  and  here,  where  the  aim  of  all  institutions  is  to 
make,  the  wholu  nation  an  aristocracy,  we  must  plan  to 
secure  the  same  splendid  physical  superiority  on  a  grander 
scale.  It  is  in  our  power,  by  using  even  very  moderately 
for  this  purpose  our  magnificent  machinery  of  common 
schools,  to  give  to  the  physical  side  of  civilization  an  ad- 
vantage which  it  has  possessed  nowhere  else,  not  even  in 
England  or  Germany.  It  is  not  yet  time  to  suggest  de- 
tailed plans  on  this  subject,  since  the  public  mind  is  not 
yet  fully  awake  even  to  the  demand.  When  the  time 
comes,  the  necessary  provisions  can  be  made  easily,  —  at 
least,  as  regards  boys ;  for  the  physical  training  of  girls 
is  a  far  more  difficult  problem.  The  organization  is  more 
delicate  and  complicated,  the  embarrassments  greater,  the 
observations  less  carefully  made,  the  successes  fewer,  the 
failures  f?\r  more  disastrous.  Any  intelligent  and  robust 
man  may  undertake  the  physical  training  of  fifty  boys, 
however  delicate  their  organization,  with  a  reasonable 
hope  of  rearing  nearly  all  of  them,  by  easy  and  obvious 
methods,  into  a  vigorous  maturity  ;  but  what  wise  man  at 


BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION.        127 

woman  can  expect  anything  like  the  same  proportion  of 
success,  at  present,  with  fifty  American  girls  ? 

This  is  the  most  momentous  health-problem  with  which 
we  have  to  deal,  —  to  secure  the  proper  physical  advan- 
tages of  civilization  for  American  women.  Without  this 
there  can  be  no  lasting  progress.  The  Sandwich  Island 
proverb  says, — 

"  If  strong  be  the  frame  of  the  mother, 
Her  son  shall  make  laws  for  the  people." 

But  in  this  country  it  is  scarcely  an  exaggeration  to 
say  that  every  man  grows  to  maturity  surrounded  by  a 
circle  of  invalid  female  relatives,  that  he  later  finds  him- 
self the  husband  of  an  invalid  wife  and  the  parent  of 
invalid  daughters,  and  that  he  comes  at  last  to  regard 
invalidism,  as  Michelet  coolly  declares,  the  normal  con- 
dition of  that  sex,  —  as  if  the  Almighty  did  not  know 
how  to  create  a  woman.  This,  of  course,  spreads  a 
gloom  over  life.  "When  I  look  at  the  morning  throng  of 
school-girls  in  summer,  hurrying  through  every  street,  with 
fresh,  young  faces,  and  vesture  of  lilies,  duly  curled  and 
straw-hatted  and  booted,  and  turned  off*  as  patterns  of 
perfection  by  proud  mammas,  —  it  is  not  sad  to  me  to 
think  that  all  this  young  beauty  must  one  day  fade  and 
die,  for  there  are  spheres  of  life  beyond  this  earth,  I 
know,  and  the  soul  is  good  to  endure  through  more  than 
one ;  —  the  sadness  is  in  the  unnatural  nearness  of  the 
decay,  to  foresee  the  living  death  of  disease  that  is  wait- 
ing close  at  hand  for  so  many,  to  know  how  terrible  a 
proportion  of  those  fair  children  are  walking  unconscious- 
ly into  a  weary,  wretched,  powerless,  joyless,  useless 
maturity.  Among  the  myriad  triumphs  of  advancing 
civilization,  there  seems  but  one  formidable  danger,  and 
that  is  here. 


128        BARBARISM  AND  CIVILIZATION. 

It  cannot  be  doubted,  however,  that  the  peril  will  pass 
by,  with  advancing  knowledge.  In  proportion  to  our 
national  recklessness  of  danger  is  the  promptness  with 
which  remedial  measures  are  adopted,  when  they  at  last 
become  indispensable.  In  the  mean  time,  we  must  look 
for  proofs  of  the  physical  resources  of  woman  into  foreign, 
and  even  into  savage  lands.  When  an  American  mother 
tells  me  with  pride,  as  occasionally  happens,  that  her 
daughter  can  walk  two  miles  and  back  without  great  fa- 
tigue, the  very  boast  seems  a  tragedy ;  but  when  one 
reads  that  Oberea,  queen  of  the  Sandwich  Islands,  lifted 
Captain  Wallis  over  a  marsh  as  easily  as  if  he  bad  been 
a  little  child,  there  is  a  slight  sense  of  consolation.  Brun- 
hilde,  in  the  "  Nibelungen,"  binds  her  offending  lover 
with  her  girdle  and  slings  him  up  to  the  wall.  Cym- 
burga,  wife  of  Duke  Ernest  of  Austria,  could  crack  nuts 
between  her  fingers,  and  drive  nails  into  a  wall  with  her 
thumb  ;  —  whether  she  ever  got  her  husband  under  it,  is 
not  recorded.  Let  me  preserve  from  oblivion  the  renown 
of  my  Lady  Butterfield,  who,  about  the  year  1700,  at 
Wanstead,  in  Essex,  (England,)  thus  advertised :  — 
"  This  is  to  give  notice  to  my  honored  masters  and  ladies 
and  loving  friends,  that  my  Lady  Butterfield  gives  a 
challenge  to  ride  a  horse,  or  leap  a  horse,  or  run  afoot, 
or  hollo,  with  any  woman  in  England  seven  years  young- 
er, but  not  a  day  older,  because  I  won't  undervalue  my- 
self, being  now  74  years  of  age."  Nor  should  be  left 
unrecorded  the  high-born  Scottish  damsel  whose  tradition 
still  remains  at  the  Castle  of  Huntingtower,  in  Scotland, 
where  two  adjacent  pinnacles  still  mark  the  Maiden's 
Leap.  She  sprang  from  battlement  to  battlement,  a  dis- 
tance of  nine  feet  and  four  inches,  and  eloped  with  her 
lover.  Were  a  young  lady  to  go  through  one  of  our  vil- 


BARBARISM  AND  CIVILIZATION.        129 

lages  in  a  series  of  leaps  like  that,  and  were  she  to  re- 
quire her  Covers  to  follow  in  her  footsteps,  it  is  to  be 
feared  that  she  would  die  single. 

Yet  the  transplanted  race  which  has  in  two  centuries 
stepped  from  Delft  Haven  to  San  Francisco  has  no  rea- 
son to  be  ashamed  of  its  physical  achievements,  the  more 
especially  as  it  has  found  time  on  the  way  for  one  feat  of 
labor  and  endurance  which  may  be  matched  without  fear 
against  any  historic  deed.  When  civilization  took  pos- 
session of  this  continent,  it  found  one  vast  coating  of 
almost  unbroken  forest  overspreading  it  from  shore  to 
prairie.  To  make  room  for  civilization,  that  forest  must 
go.  What  were  Indians,  however  deadly,  —  what  star- 
vation, however  imminent,  —  what  pestilence,  however 
lurking,  —  to  a  solid  obstacle  like  this  ?  No  mere  cour- 
age could  cope  with  it,  no  mere  subtlety,  no  mere  skill, 
no  Yankee  ingenuity,  no  labor-saving  machine  with  head 
for  hands  ;  but  only  firm,  unwearying,  bodily  muscle  to 
every  stroke.  Tree  by  tree,  in  two  centuries,  the  forest 
has  been  felled.  What  were  the  Pyramids  to  that? 
History  does  not  record  another  athletic  feat  so  aston- 
ishing. 

But  there  yet  lingers  upon  this  continent  a  forest  of 
moral  evil  more  formidable,  a  barrier  denser  and  darker, 
a  Dismal  Swamp  of  inhumanity,  a  barbarism  upon  the 
soil,  before  which  civilization  has  thus  far  been  compelled 
to  pause,  —  happy,  if  it  could  even  check  its  spread. 
Checked  at  last,  there  comes  from  it  a  cry  as  if  the  light 
of  day  had  turned  to  darkness,  —  when  the  truth  simply 
is,  that  darkness  is  being  mastered  and  surrounded  by  the 
light  of  day.  Is  it  a  good  thing  to  "  extend  the  area  of 
freedom "  by  pillaging  some  feeble  Mexico  ?  and  does 
the  phrase  become  a  bad  one  only  when  it  means  the 
6*  i 


130         BARBARISM  AND   CIVILIZATION. 

peaceful  progress  of  constitutional  liberty  within  our  own 
borders  ?  The  phrases  which  oppression  teaches  become 
the  watchwords  of  freedom  at  last,  and  the  triumph  of 
Civilization  over  Barbarism  is  the  only  Manifest  Destiny 
of  America. 


GYMNASTICS 


GYMNASTICS. 


SO  your  zeal  for  physical  training  begins  to  wane  a 
little,  my  friend  ?  I  thought  it  would,  in  your  par- 
ticular case,  because  it  began  too  ardently  and  was  con- 
centrated too  exclusively  on  your  one  hobby  of  pedes- 
trianism.  Just  now  you  are  literally  under  the  weather. 
It  is  the  equinoctial  storm.  No  matter,  you  say  ;  did  not 
Olmsted  foot  it  over  all  England  under  an  umbrella? 
did  not  Wordsworth  regularly  walk  every  guest  round 
Windermere,  the  day  after  arrival,  rain  or  shine  ?  So, 
the  day  before  yesterday,  you  did  your  four  miles  out,  on 
the  Northern  turnpike,  and  returned  splashed  to  the 
waist ;  and  yesterday  you  walked  three  miles  out,  on  the 
Southern  turnpike,  and  came  back  soaked  to  the  knees. 
To-day  the  storm  is  slightly  increasing,  but  you  are  dry 
thus  far,  and  wish  to  remain  so  ;  exercise  is  a  humbug ; 
you  will  give  it  all  up,  and  go  to  the  Chess-Club.  Don't 
go  to  the  Chess-Club  ;  come  with  me  to  the  Gymnasium. 
Chess  may  be  all  very  well  to  tax  with  tough  problems 
a  brain  otherwise  inert,  to  vary  a  monotonous  day  with 
small  events,  to  keep  one  awake  during  a  sleepy  evening, 
and  to  arouse  a  whole  family  next  morning  for  the  ad- 
justment over  the  breakfast-table  of  that  momentous 
state-question,  whether  the  red  king  should  have  castled 


134  GYMNASTICS. 

at  the  fiftieth  move  or  not  till  the  fifty-first.  But  for  an 
average  American  man,  who  leaves  his  place  of  business 
at  nightfall  with  his  head  a  mere  furnace  of  red-hot  brains 
and  his  body  a  pile  of  burnt-out  cinders,  utterly  exhausted 
in  the  daily  effort  to  put  ten  dollars  more  of  distance  be- 
tween his  posterity  and  the  poor-house,  —  for  such  a  one 
to  kindle  up  afresh  after  office-hours  for  a  complicated 
chess-problem  seems  much  as  if  a  wood-sawyer,  worn  out 
with  his  week's  work,  should  decide  to  order  in  his  sa  AT- 
horse  on  Saturday  evening,  and  saw  for  fun.  Surely  we 
have  little  enough  recreation  at  any  rate,  and,  pray,  let 
us  make  that  little  unintellectual.  True,  something  can 
be  said  in  favor  of  chess,  —  inasmuch  as  no  money  can 
be  made  out  of  it ;  but  even  this  is  not  enough.  For 
this  once,  lock  your  brains  into  your  safe,  at  nightfall, 
with  your  other  valuables ;  don't  go  to  the  Chess-Club ; 
come  with  me  to  the  Gymnasium. 

Ten  leaps  up  a  steep,  worn-out  stairway,  through  a 
blind  entry  to  another  stairway,  and  yet  another,  and  we 
emerge  suddenly  upon  the  floor  of  a  large  lighted  room, 
a  mere  human  machine-shop  of  busy  motion,  where 
Indian  clubs  are  whirling,  dumb-bells  pounding,  swings 
vibrating,  and  arms  and  legs  flying  in  all  manner  of  un- 
expected directions.  Henderson  sits  with  his  big  propor- 
tions quietly  rested  against  the  weight-boxes,  pulling  with 
monotonous  vigor  at  the  fifty-pound  weights,  —  "  the 
Stationary  Engine  "  the  boys  call  him.  For  a  contrast, 
Draper  is  floating  up  and  down  between  the  parallel  bars 
with  such  an  airy  lightness,  that  you  think  he  must  have 
hung  up  his  body  in  the  dressing-room,  and  is  exercising 
only  in  his  arms  and  clothes.  Parsons  is  swinging  in  the 
rings,  rising  to  the  ceiling  before  and  behind ;  up  and 
down  he  goes,  whirling  over  and  over,  converting  himself 


GYMNASTICS.  135 

into  a  mere  tumbler-pigeon,  yet  still  bound  by  the  long, 
steady  vibration  of  the  human  pendulum.  Another  is 
running  a  race  with  him,  if  sitting  in  the  swing  be  run- 
ning ;  and  still  another  is  accompanying  their  motion, 
clinging  to  the  trapeze.  Hayes,  meanwhile,  is  spinning 
on  the  horizontal  bar,  now  backward,  now  forward,  twen- 
ty times  without  stopping,  pinioned  through  his  bent  arms, 
like  a  Fakir  on  his  iron.  See  how  many  different  waya 
of  ascending  a  vertical  pole  these  boys  are  devising !  — 
one  climbs  with  hands  and  legs,  another  with  hands  only, 
another  is  crawling  up  on  all-fours  in  Fiji  fashion,  while 
another  is  pegging  his  way  up  by  inserting  pegs  in  holes 
a  foot  apart,  —  you  will  see  him  sway  and  tremble  yet, 
before  he  reaches  the  ceiling.  Others  are  at  work  with 
a  spring-board  and  leaping-cord  ;  higher  and  higher  the 
cord  is  moved,  one  by  one  the  competitors  step  aside 
defeated,  till  the  field  is  left  to  a  single  champion,  who, 
like  an  India-rubber  ball,  goes  on  rebounding  till  he 
seems  likely  to  disappear  through  the  chimney,  like  a 
Ravel.  Some  sturdy  young  visitors,  farmers  by  their 
looks,  are  trying  their  strength,  with  various  success,  at 
the  sixty-pound  dumb-bell,  when  some  quiet  fellow,  a 
clerk  or  a  tailor,  walks  modestly  to  the  hundred-pound 
weight,  and  up  it  goes  as  steadily  as  if  the  laws  of  gravi- 
tation had  suddenly  shifted  their  course,  and  worked 
upward  instead  of  down.  Lest,  however,  they  should 
suddenly  resume  their  original  bias,  let  us  cross  to  the 
dressing-room,  and,  while  you  are  assuming  flannel  shirt 
or  complete  gymnastic  suit,  as  you  may  prefer,  let  us 
consider  the  merits  of  the  Gymnasium. 

Do  not  say  that  the  public  is  growing  tired  of  hearing 
about  physical  training.  You  might  as  well  speak  of 
being  surfeited  with  the  sight  of  apple-blossoms,  or  bored 


136  GYMNASTICS. 

with  roses,  —  for  these  athletic  exercises  are,  to  a  healthy 
person,  just  as  good  and  refreshing.  Of  course,  any  one 
becomes  insupportable  who  talks  all  the  time  of  this  sub- 
ject, or  of  any  other ;  but  it  is  the  man  who  fatigues  you, 
not  the  theme.  Any  person  becomes  morbid  and  tedious 
whose  whole  existence  is  absorbed  in  any  one  thing,  be  it 
playing  or  praying.  Queen  Elizabeth,  after  admiring  a 
gentleman's  dancing,  refused  to  look  at  the  dancing-mas- 
ter, who  did  it  better.  "  Nay,"  quoth  her  bluff  Majesty, 
—  "  't  is  his  business,  —  I  '11  none  of  him."  Professionals 
grow  tiresome.  Books  are  good,  —  so  is  a  boat ;  but  a 
librarian  and  a  ferryman,  though  useful  to  take  you  where 
you  wish  to  go,  are  not  necessarily  enlivening  as  com- 
panions. The  annals  of  "  Boxiana  "  and  "  Pedestriana  " 
and  "The  Cricket-Field"  are  as  pathetic  records  of 
monomania  as  the  bibliographical  works  of  Mr.  Thomas 
Dibdin.  Margaret  Fuller  said  truly,  that  we  all  delight 
in  gossip,  and  differ  only  in  the  department  of  gossip  we 
individually  prefer ;  but  a  monotony  of  gossip  soon  grows 
tedious,  be  the  theme  horses  or  octavos. 

Not  one  tenth-part  of  the  requisite  amount  has  yet 
been  said  of  athletic  exercises  as  a  prescription  for  this 
community.  There  was  a  time  when  they  were  not  even 
practised  generally  among  American  boys,  if  we  may 
trust  the  foreign  travellers  of  a  half-century  ago,  and  they 
are  but  just  being  raised  into  respectability  among  Ameri- 
can men.  Motley  says  of  one  of  his  Flemish  heroes, 
that  "  he  would  as  soon  have  foregone  his  daily  tennis  as 
his  religious  exercises,"  —  as  if  ball-playing  were  then  the 
necessary  pivot  of  a  great  man's  day.  Some  such  pivot 
of  physical  enjoyment  we  must  have,  for  no  other  race  in 
the  world  needs  it  so  much.  Through  the  immense  in- 
ventive capacity  of  our  people,  mechanical  avocations  are 


GYMNASTICS.  137 

becoming  almost  as  sedentary  and  intellectual  as  the  pro- 
fessions. Among  Americans,  all  hand-work  is  constantly 
being  transmuted  into  brain-work;  Napoleon's  wish  is 
being  fulfilled,  that  all  trades  should  become  arts ;  the 
intellect  gains,  but  the  body  suffers,  and  needs  some  other 
form  of  physical  activity  to  restore  the  equilibrium.  As 
machinery  becomes  perfected,  all  the  coarser  tasks  are 
constantly  being  handed  over  to  the  German  or  Irish 
immigrant,  —  not  because  the  American  cannot  do  the 
particular  thing  required,  but  because  he  is  promoted  to 
something  more  intellectual.  Thus  transformed  to  a 
mental  laborer,  he  must  somehow  supply  the  bodily  de- 
ficiency. If  this  is  true  even  of  mechanics,  it  is  of  course 
true  of  the  merchant,  the  student,  and  the  professional 
man.  The  general  statement  recently  made  by  Lewes, 
in  England,  certainly  holds  not  less  in  America :  "  It  is 
rare  to  meet  with  good  digestion  among  the  artisans  of  the 
brain,  no  matter  how  careful  they  may  be  in  food  and 
general  habits.  The  great  majority  of  our  literary  and 
professional  men  could  echo  the  testimony  of  Washington 
Irving,  if  they  would  only  indorse  his  wise  conclusion : 
"  My  own  case  is  a  proof  how  one  really  loses  by  over- 
writing one's  self  and  keeping  too  intent  upon  a  seden- 
tary occupation.  I  attribute  all  my  present  indisposition, 
which  is  losing  me  time,  spirits,  everything,  to  two  fits  of 
close  application  and  neglect  of  all  exercise  while  I  was 
at  Paris.  I  am  convinced  that  he  who  devotes  two  hours 
each  day  to  vigorous  exercise  will  eventually  gain  those 
two  and  a  couple  more  into  the  bargain." 

Indeed,  there  is  something  involved  in  the  matter  far 
beyond  any  merely  physical  necessity.  All  our  natures 
need  something  more  than  mere  bodily  exertion;  they 
need  bodily  enjoyment.  There  is,  or  ought  to  be,  in  all 


138  GYMNASTICS. 

of  us  a  touch  of  untamed  gypsy  nature,  which  should  be 
trained,  not  crushed.  We  need,  in  the  very  midst  of 
civilization,  something  which  gives  a  little  of  the  zest  of 
savage  life;  and  athletic  exercises  furnish  the  means. 
The  young  man  who  is  caught  down  the  bay  in  a  sudden 
storm,  alone  in  his  boat,  with  wind  and  tide  against  him, 
has  all  the  sensations  of  a  Norway  sea-king,  —  sensations 
thoroughly  uncomfortable,  if  you  please,  but  for  the  thrill 
and  glow  they  bring.  Swim  out  after  a  storm  at  Dove 
Harbor,  topping  the  low  crests,  diving  through  the  high 
ones,  and  you  feel  yourself  as  veritable  a  South-Sea 
Islander  as  if  you  were  to  dine  that  day  on  missionary 
instead  of  mutton.  Tramp,  for  a  whole  day,  across  hill, 
marsh,  and  pasture,  with  gun,  rod,  or  whatever  the  ex- 
cuse may  be,  and  camp  where  you  find  yourself  at  even- 
ing, and  you  are  as  essentially  an  Indian  on  the  Blue 
Hills  as  among  the  Rocky  Mountains.  Less  depends 
upon  circumstances  than  we  fancy,  and  more  upon  our 
personal  temperament  and  will.  All  the  enjoyments  of 
Browning's  "Saul,"  those  "wild  joys  of  living"  which 
make  us  happy  with  their  freshness  as  we  read  of  them, 
are  within  the  reach  of  all,  and  make  us  happier  still 
when  enacted.  Every  one,  in  proportion  as  he  develops 
his  own  physical  resources,  puts  himself  in  harmony 
with  the  universe,  and  contributes  something  to  it ;  even 
as  Mr.  Pecksniff,  exulting  in  his  digestive  machinery, 
felt  a  pious  delight  after  dinner  in  the  thought  that  this 
wonderful  apparatus  was  wound  up  and  going. 

A  young  person  can  no  more  have  too  much  love  of 
adventure  than  a  mill  can  have  too  much  water-power ; 
only  it  needs  to  be  worked,  not  wasted.  Physical  ex- 
ercises give  to  energy  and  daring  a  legitimate  channel, 
supply  the  place  of  war,  gambling,  licentiousness,  high- 


GYMNASTICS.  139 

•vay-robbery,  and  office-seeking.  De  Quincey,  in  like 
manner,  fays  that  Wordsworth  made  pedestrianism  a 
substitute  for  wine  and  spirits ;  and  Emerson  thinks  the 
force  of  rude  periods  "  can  rarely  be  compensated  in 
tranquil  times,  except  by  some  analogous  vigor  drawn 
from  occupations  as  hardy  as  war."  The  animal  energy 
cannot  and  ought  not  to  be  suppressed ;  if  debarred 
from  its  natural  channel,  it  will  force  for  itself  unnatural 
ones.  A  vigorous  life  of  the  senses  not  only  does  not 
tend  to  sensuality  in  the  objectionable  sense,  but  it  helps 
to  avert  it.  Health  finds  joy  in  mere  existence;  daily 
breath  and  daily  bread  suffice.  This  innocent  enjoyment 
lost,  the  normal  desires  seek  abnormal  satisfactions.  The 
most  brutal  prize-fighter  is  compelled  to  recognize  the 
connection  between  purity  and  vigor,  and  becomes  virtu- 
ous when  he  goes  into  training,  as  the  heroes  of  old 
observed  chastity,  in  hopes  of  conquering  at  the  Olympic 
Games.  The  very  word  ascetic  comes  from  a  Greek 
word  signifying  the  preparatory  exercises  of  an  athlete. 
There  are  spiritual  diseases  which  coil  poisonously  among 
distorted  instincts  and  disordered  nerves,  and  one  would 
be  generally  safer  in  standing  sponsor  for  the  soul  of  the 
gymnast  than  of  the  dyspeptic. 

Of  course,  the  demand  of  our  nature  is  not  always 
for  continuous  exertion.  One  does  not  always  seek  that 
"  rough  exercise  "  which  Sir  John  Sinclair  asserts  to  be 
"  the  darling  idol  of  the  English."  There  are  delicious 
languors,  Neapolitan  reposes,  Creole  siestas,  "  long  days 
and  solid  banks  of  flowers."  But  it  is  the  birthright  of 
the  man  of  the  temperate  zones  to  alternate  these  volup- 
tuous delights  with  more  heroic  ones,  and  sweeten  the 
reverie  by  the  toil.  So  far  as  they  go,  the  enjoyments 
of  the  healthy  body  are  as  innocent  and  as  ardent  as 


140  GYMNASTICS. 

those  of  Jie  soul.  As  there  is  no  ground  of  comparison, 
so  there  is  no  ground  of  antagonism.  How  compare  a 
sonata  and  a  sea-bath,  or  measure  the  Sistine  Madonna 
against  a  gallop  across  country  ?  The  best  thanksgiv- 
ing for  each  is  to  enjoy  the  other  also,  and  educate 
the  mind  to  ampler  nobleness.  After  all,  the  best  ver- 
dict on  athletic  exercises  was  that  of  the  great  Sully, 
when  he  said,  "I  was  always  of  the  same  opinion  with 
Henry  IV.  concerning  them :  he  often  asserted  that  they 
were  the  most  solid  foundation,  not  only  of  discipline 
and  other  military  virtues,  but  also  of  those  noble  senti- 
ments and  that  elevation  of  mind  which  give  one  nature 
superiority  over  another." 

We  are  now  ready,  perhaps,  to  come  to  the  question, 
How  are  these  athletic  enjoyments  to  be  obtained  ?  The 
first  and  easiest  answer  is,  By  taking  a  long  walk  every 
day.  If  people  would  actually  do  this,  instead  of  forever 
talking  about  doing  it,  the  object  might  be  gained.  To 
be  sure,  there  are  various  defects  in  this  form  of  exer- 
cise. It  is  not  a  play,  to  begin  with,  and  therefore  does 
not  withdraw  the  mind  from  its  daily  cares ;  the  anxious 
man  recurs  to  his  problems  on  the  way ;  and  each  mile, 
in  that  case,  brings  fresh  weariness  to  brain  as  well  as 
body.  Moreover,  there  are,  according  to  Dr.  Grau, 
"  three  distinct  groups  of  muscles  which  are  almost  totally 
neglected  where  walking  alone  is  resorted  to^  and  which 
consequently  exist  only  in  a  crippled  state,  although  they 
are  of  the  utmost  importance,  and  each  stands  in  close 
rapport  with  a  number  of  other  functions  of  the  great- 
est necessity  to  health  and  life."  These  he  afterwards 
classifies  as  the  muscles  of  the  shoulders  and  chest,  hav- 
ing a  bearing  on  the  lungs,  —  the  abdominal  muscles, 
bearing  on  the  corresponding  organs,  —  and  the  spinal 


GYMNASTICS.  141 

muscles,  which  are  closely  connected  with  the  whole 
nervous  system. 

But  the  greatest  practical  difficulty  is,  that  walking, 
being  the  least  concentrated  form  of  exercise,  requires  a 
larger  appropriation  of  time  than  most  persons  are  willing 
to  give.  Taken  liberally,  and  in  connection  with  exer- 
cises which  are  more  concentrated  and  have  more  play 
about  them,  it  is  of  great  value,  and,  indeed,  indispensa- 
ble. But  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  instead  of  these  other 
pursuits  taking  the  place  of  pedestrianism,  they  commonly 
create  a  taste  for  it ;  so  that,  when  the  sweet  spring  days 
come  round,  you  will  see  our  afternoon  gymnastic  class 
begin  to  scatter  literally  to  the  four  winds ;  or  they  look 
in  for  a  moment,  on  their  way  home  from  the  woods, 
their  hands  filled  and  scented  with  long  wreaths  of  the 
trailing  arbutus. 

But  the  gymnasium  is  the  normal  type  of  all  muscular 
exercise,  —  the  only  form  of  it  which  is  impartial  and 
comprehensive,  which  has  something  for  everybody,  which 
is  available  at  all  seasons,  through  all  weathers,  in  all  lati- 
tudes. All  other  provisions  are  limited :  you  cannot  row 
in  winter  nor  skate  in  summer,  spite  of  parlor-skates  and 
ice-boats  ;  ball-playing  requires  comrades ;  riding  takes 
money ;  everything  needs  daylight :  but  the  gymnasium 
is  always  accessible.  Then  it  is  the  only  thing  which 
trains  the  whole  body.  Military  drill  makes  one  prompt, 
patient,  erect,  accurate,  still,  strong.  Rowing  takes  one 
set  of  muscles  and  stretches  them  through  and  through, 
till  you  feel  yourself  turning  into  one  long  spiral  spring 
from  finger-tips  to  toes.  In  cricket  or  base-ball,  a  player 
runs,  strikes,  watches,  catches,  throws,  must  learn  quick- 
ness of  hand  and  eye,  must  learn  endurance  also.  Yet, 
no  matter  which  of  these  may  be  your  special  hobby,  you 


142  GYMNASTICS. 

mast,  if  you  wish  to  use  all  the  days  and  all  the  muscles, 
seek  the  gymnasium  at  last. 

The  history  of  modern  gymnastic  exercises  is  easily 
written :  it  is  proper  to  say  modern,  —  for,  so  far  as 
apparatus  goes,  the  ancient  gymnasiums  seem  to  have 
had  scarcely  anything  in  common  with  our  own.  The 
first  institution  on  the  modern  plan  was  founded  at  Schnep- 
fenthal,  near  Gotha,  in  Germany,  in  1785,  by  Salzmann, 
a  clergyman  and  the  principal  of  a  boys'  school.  After 
eight  years  of  experience,  his  assistant,  Gutsmuths,  wrote 
a  book  upon  the  subject,  which  was  translated  into  Eng- 
lish, and  published  at  London  in  1799  and  at  Philadelphia 
in  1800,  under  the  name  of  "  Salzmann's  Gymnastics." 
No  similar  institution  seems  to  have  existed  in  either 
country,  however,  till  those  established  by  Voelckers,  in 
London,  in  1824,  and  by  Dr.  Follen,  at  Cambridge,  Mass., 
in  1826.  Both  were  largely  patronized  at  first,  and  died 
out  at  last.  The  best  account  of  Voelckers's  establish- 
ment will  be  found  in  Hone's  "  Every-Day  Book  " ;  its 
plan  seems  to  have  been  unexceptionable.  But  Dr. 
James  Johnson,  writing  his  "  Economy  of  Health  "  ten 
years  after,  declared  that  these  German  exercises  had 
proved  "  better  adapted  to  the  Spartan  youth  than  to  the 
pallid  sons  of  pampered  cits,  the  dandies  of  the  desk,  and 
the  squalid  tenants  of  attics  and  factories,"  and  also  adds 
the  epitaph,  "  This  ultra-gymnastic  enthusiast  did  much 
injury  to  an  important  branch  of  hygiene  by  carrying  it  to 
excess,  and  consequently  by  causing  its  desuetude."  And 
Dr.  Jarvis,  in  his  "  Practical  Physiology,"  declares  from 
personal  recollection  that  the  result  of  the  American 
experiment  was  "  general  failure." 

Accordingly,  the  English,  who  are  reputed  kings  in  all 
physical  exercises,  have  undoubtedly  been  far  surpassed 


GYMNASTICS.  143 

by  the  Germans,  and  even  by  the  French,  hi  gymnastics. 
The  writer  of  the  excellent  little  "  Handbook  for  Gym- 
nastics," George  Forrest,  M.  A.,  testifies  strongly  to  this 
deficiency.  "  It  is  curious  that  we  English,  who  possess 
perhaps  the  finest  and  strongest  figures  of  all  European 
nations,  should  leave  ourselves  so  undeveloped  bodily. 
There  is  not  one  man  in  a  hundred  who  can  even  raise 
his  toes  to  a  level  with  his  hands,  when  suspended  by  the 
latter  members ;  and  yet  to  do  so  is  at  the  very  beginning 
of  gymnastic  exercises.  We,  as  a  rule,  are  strong  in  the 
arms  and  legs,  but  weak  across  the  loins  and  back,  and 
are  apparently  devoid  of  that  beautiful  set  of  muscles  that 
run  round  the  entire  waist,  and  show  to  such  advantage 
in  the  ancient  statues.  Indeed,  at  a  bathing-place,  I  can 
pick  out  every  gymnast  merely  by  the  development  of 
those  muscles,"  —  a  statement,  by  the  way,  which  has  a 
good  deal  of  truth  in  it. 

It  is  the  Germans  and  the  military  portion  of  the 
French  nation,  chiefly,  who  have  developed  gymnastic 
exercises  to  their  present  elaboration,  while  the  working 
out  of  their  curative  applications  was  chiefly  due  to  Ling, 
a  Swede.  In  the  German  manuals,  such,  for  instance, 
as  Eiselen's  "  Turniibungen,"  are  to  be  found  nearly  all 
the  stock  exercises  of  our  institutions.  Until  within  a  few 
years,  American  skill  has  added  nothing  to  these,  except 
through  the  medium  of  the  circus;  but  the  present  revival 
of  athletic  exercises  is  rapidly  placing  American  gymnasts 
hi  advance  of  the  Turners,  both  in  the  feats  performed  and 
in  the  style  of  doing  them.  Never  yet  have  I  succeeded 
in  seeing  a  thoroughly  light  and  graceful  German  gymnast, 
while  again  and  again  I  have  seen  Americans  who  carried 
into  their  severest  exercise  such  an  airy,  floating  elegance 
of  motion,  that  all  the  beauty  of  Greek  sculpture  appeared 


144  GYMNASTICS. 

to  return  again,  and  it  seemed  as  if  plastic  art  might  once 
more  make  its  studio  in  the  gymnasium. 

The  apparatus  is  not  costly.  Any  handful  of  young 
men  in  the  smallest  country  village,  with  a  very  few  dol- 
lars and  a  little  mechanical  skill,  can  put  up  in  any  old 
shed  or  shoe-shop  a  few  simple  articles  of  machinery, 
which  will,  through  many  a  winter  evening,  vary  the 
monotony  of  the  cigar  and  the  grocery -bench  by  an  end- 
less variety  of  manly  competitions.  Fifteen  cents  will 
bring  by  mail  from  the  publishers  of  the  "Atlantic" 
Forrest's  little  sixpenny  "  Handbook,"  which  gives  a 
sufficient  number  of  exercises  to  form  an  introduction 
to  all  others  ;  and  a  gymnasium  is  thus  easily  established. 
This  is  just  the  method  of  the  simple  and  sensible  Ger 
mans,  who  never  wait  for  elegant  upholstery.  A  pair 
of  plain  parallel  bars,  a  movable  vaulting-bar,  a  wooden 
horse,  a  spring-board,  an  old  mattress  to  break  the  fall, 
a  few  settees  where  sweethearts  and  wives  may  sit  with 
their  knitting  as  spectators,  and  there  is  a  Turnhalle  com- 
plete, —  to  be  henceforward  filled,  two  or  three  nights  in 
every  week,  with  cheery  German  faces,  jokes,  laughs, 
gutturals,  and  gambols. 

But  this  suggests  that  you  are  being  kept  too  long  in 
the  anteroom.  Let  me  act  as  cicerone  through  this 
modest  gymnastic  hall  of  ours.  You  will  better  appre- 
ciate all  this  oddly-shaped  apparatus,  if  I  tell  you  in 
advance,  as  a  connoisseur  does  in  his  picture-gallery, 
precisely  what  you  are  expected  to  think  of  each  partic- 
ular article. 

You  will  notice,  however,  that  a  part  of  the  gymnastic 
class  are  exercising  without  apparatus,  in  a  series  of 
rather  grotesque  movements  which  supple  and  prepare 
the  body  for  more  muscular  feats :  these  are  calisthenic 


GYMNASTICS.  145 

exercises.  Such  are  being  at  last  introduced,  thanks  to 
Dr.  Lewis  and  others,  into  our  common  schools.  At  the 
word  of  command,  as  swiftly  as  a  conjurer  twists  his 
puzzle-paper,  these  living  forms  are  shifted  from  one  odd 
resemblance  to  another,  at  which  it  is  quite  lawful  to 
laugh,  especially  if  those  laugh  who  win.  A  series  of 
wind-mills,  —  a  group  of  inflated  balloons,  —  a  flock  of 
geese  all  asleep  on  one  leg,  —  a  circle  of  ballet-dancers, 
just  poised  to  begin,  —  a  band  of  patriots  just  kneeling  to 
take  an  oath  upon  their  country's  altar,  —  a  senate  of 
tailors,  —  a  file  of  soldiers,  —  a  whole  parish  of  Shaker 
worshippers,  —  a  Japanese  embassy  performing  Ko-tow  : 
these  all  in  turn  come  like  shadows,  so  depart.  This 
complicated  attitudinizing  forms  the  preliminary  to  the 
gymnastic  hour.  But  now  come  and  look  at  some  of  the 
apparatus. 

Here  is  a  row  of  Indian  clubs,  or  sceptres,  as  they  are 
sometimes  called,  —  tapering  down  from  giants  of  fifteen 
pounds  to  dwarfs  of  four.  Help  yourself  to  a  pair  of 
dwarfs,  at  first ;  grasp  one  in  each  hand,  by  the  handle ; 
swing  one  of  them  round  your  head  quietly,  dropping  the 
point  behind  as  far  as  possible,  —  then  the  other,  —  and 
so  swing  them  alternately  some  twenty  times.  Now  do 
the  same  back-handed,  bending  the  wrist  outward,  and 
carrying  the  club  behind  the  head  first.  Now  swing  them 
both  together,  crossing  them  in  front,  and  then  the  same 
back-handed ;  then  the  same  without  crossing,  and  this 
again  backward,  which  you  will  find  much  harder.  Place 
them  on  the  ground  gently  after  each  set  of  processes. 
Now,  can  you  hold  them  out  horizontally  at  arm's  length, 
forward  and  then  sideways  ?  Your  arms  quiver  and 
qniver,  and  down  come  the  clubs  thumping  at  last. 
Take  them  presently  in  a  different  and  more  difficult 
7  j 


146  GYMNASTICS. 

manner,  holding  oach  club  with  the  point  erect  instead 
of  hanging  down  ,  it  tries  your  wrists,  you  will  find,  to 
manipulate  them  so,  yet  all  the  most  graceful  exercises 
havn  this  for  a  basis.  Soon  you  will  gain  the  mastery  of 
heavier  implements  than  you  begin  with,  and  will  under- 
stand how  yonder  slight  youth  has  learned  to  handle  his 
two  heavy  clubs  in  complex  curves  that  seem  to  you  inex- 
plicable, tracing  in  the  air  a  device  as  swift  and  tangled 
as  that  woven  by  a  swarm  of  gossamer  flies  above  a  brook, 
in  the  sultry  stillness  of  the  summer  noon. 

This  row  of  masses  of  iron,  laid  regularly  in  order  of 
size,  so  as  to  resemble  something  between  a  musical  in- 
strument and  a  gridiron,  consists  of  dumb-bells  weighing 
from  four  pounds  to  a  hundred.  These  playthings,  suited 
to  a  variety  of  capacities,  have  experienced  a  revival  of 
favor  within  a  few  years,  and  the  range  of  exercises  with 
them  has  been  greatly  increased.  The  use  of  very  heavy 
ones  is,  so  far  as  I  can  find,  a  peculiarly  American  hobby, 
though  not  originating  with  Dr.  Windship.  Even  he,  at 
the  beginning  of  his  exhibitions,  used  those  weighing  only 
ninety-eight  pounds ;  and  it  was  considered  an  astonishing 
feat,  when,  a  little  earlier,  Mr.  Richard  Montgomery  used 
to  "  put  up  "  a  dumb-bell  weighing  one  hundred  and  one 
pounds.  A  good  many  person^,  in  different  parts  of  the 
country,  now  handle  one  hundred  and  twenty-five,  and 
Dr.  Windship  has  got  much  farther  on.  There  is,  of 
course,  a  knack  in  using  these  little  articles,  as  in  every 
other  feat,  yet  it  takes  good  extensor  muscles  to  get  be- 
yond the  fifties.  The  easiest  way  of  elevating  the  weight 
is  to  swing  it  up  from  between  the  knees ;  or  it  may  be 
thrown  up  from  the  shoulder,  with  a  simultaneous  jerk  of 
the  whole  body ;  but  the  only  way  of  doing  it  handsomely 
is  to  put  it  up  from  the  shoulder  with  the  arm  alone, 


GYMNASTICS.  147 

without  bending  the  knee,  though  you  may  bend  the  body 
as  much  as  you  please.  Dr.  Windship  now  puts  up  one 
hundred  and  forty-one  pounds  in  this  manner,  and  by  the 
aid  of  a  jerk  can  elevate  one  hundred  and  eighty  with 
one  arm.  This  particular  movement  with  dumb-bells  is 
most  practised,  as  affording  a  test  of  strength ;  but.  there 
are  many  other  ways  of  using  them,  all  exceedingly  in- 
vigorating, and  all  safe  enough,  unless  the  weight  em- 
ployed be  too  great,  which  it  is  very  apt  to  be.  Indeed, 
there  is  so  much  danger  of  this,  that  at  Cambridge  it  has 
been  deemed  best  to  exclude  all  beyond  seventy  pounds. 
Nevertheless,  the  dumb-bell  remains  the  one  available 
form  of  home  or  office  exercise :  it  is  a  whole  athletic 
apparatus  packed  up  in  the  smallest  space  ;  it  is  gymnas- 
tic pemmican.  With  one  fifty-pound  dumb-bell,  or  a  pair 
of  half  that  size,  —  or  more  or  less,  according  to  hia 
strength  and  habits,  —  a  man  may  exercise  nearly  every 
muscle  in  his  body  in  half  an  hour,  if  he  has  sufficient  in- 
genuity in  positions.  If  it  were  one's  fortune  to  be  sent 
to  prison,  —  and  the  access  to  such  retirement  is  growing 
more  and  more  facile  in  many  regions  of  our  common 
country,  —  one  would  certainly  wish  to  carry  a  dumb-bell 
with  him,  precisely  as  Dr.  Johnson  carried  an  arithmetic 
in  lus  pocket  on  his  tour  to  the  Hebrides,  as  containing 
the  greatest  amount  of  nutriment  in  the  compactest  form. 
Apparatus  for  lifting  is  not  yet  introduced  into  most 
gymnasiums,  in  spite  of  the  recommendations  of  the  Rox- 
bury  Hercules :  beside  the  fear  of  straining,  there  is  the 
cumbrous  weight  and  cost  of  iron  apparatus,  while,  for 
some  reason  or  other,  no  cheap  and  accurate  dynamome- 
ter has  yet  come  into  the  market.  Running  and  jumping, 
also,  have  as  yet  been  too  much  neglected  in  our  institu- 
tions, or  practiced  spasmodically  rather  than  systemati- 


148  GYMNASTICS. 

cally.  It  is  singular  how  little  pains  have  been  taken  t& 
ascertain  definitely  what  a  man  can  do  with  his  body,  — 
far  less,  as  Quetelet  has  observed,  than  in  regard  to  any 
animal  which  man  has  tamed,  or  any  machine  which  he 
has  invented.  It  is  stated,  for  instance,  in  Walker's 
"  Manly  Exercises,"  that  six  feet  is  the  maximum  of  a 
high  leap,  with  a  run,  —  and  certainly  one  never  finds  in 
the  newspapers  a  record  of  anything  higher ;  yet  it  is  the 
English  tradition,  that  Ireland,  of  Yorkshire,  could  clear 
a  string  raised  fourteen  feet,  and  that  he  once  kicked  a 
bladder  at  sixteen.  No  spring-board  would  explain  a 
difference  so  astounding.  In  the  same  way,  Walker  fixes 
the  limit  of  a  long  leap  without  a  run  at  fourteen  feet, 
and  with  a  run  at  twenty-two,  —  both  being  large  esti- 
mates; and  Thackeray  makes  his  young  Virginian  jump 
twenty-one  feet  and  three  inches,  crediting  George  Wash- 
ington  with  a  foot  more.  Yet  the  ancient  epitaph  of 
Phayllus  the  Crotonian  claimed  for  him  nothing  less  than 
fifty-five  feet  on  an  inclined  plane.  Certainly  the  story 
must  have  taken  a  leap  also. 

These  ladders,  aspiring  indefinitely  into  the  air,  like 
Piranesi's  stairways,  are  called  technically  peak-ladders  ; 
and  dear  banished  T.  S.  K.,  who  always  was  puzzled  to 
know  why  Mount  Washington  kept  up  such  a  pique 
against  the  sky,  would  have  found  his  joke  fit  these  lad- 
ders with  great  precision,  so  frequent  the  disappointment 
they  create.  But  try  them,  and  see  what  trivial  appen- 
dages one's  legs  may  become,  —  since  the  feet  are  not  in- 
tended to  touch  these  polished  rounds.  Walk  up  backward 
on  the  under  side,  hand  over  hand,  then  forward ;  then  go 
up  again,  omitting  every  other  round ;  then  aspire  to  the 
third  round,  if  you  will.  Next  grasp  a  round  with  both 
hands,  give  a  slight  swing  of  the  body,  let  go,  and  grasp 


GYMNASTICS.  149 

the  roun£  above  with  both,  and  so  on  upward ;  then  the 
same,  omitting  one  round,  or  more,  if  you  can,  and  come 
down  in  the  same  way.  Can  you  walk  up  on  one  hand  ? 
It  is  not  an  easy  thing,  but  a  first-class  gymnast  will  do 
it,  —  and  Dr.  Windship  does  it,  taking  only  every  third 
round.  Fancy  a  one-armed  and  legless  hodman  ascend- 
ing the  under  side  of  a  ladder  to  the  roof,  and  reflect  on 
the  conveniences  of  gymnastic  habits. 

Here  is  a  wooden  horse  ;  on  this  noble  animal  the  Ger- 
mans say  that  not  less  than  three  hundred  distinct  feats 
can  be  performed.  Bring  yonder  spring-board,  and  we 
will  try  a  few.  Grasp  these  low  pommels  and  vault  over 
the  horse,  first  to  the  right,  then  again  to  the  left ;  then 
with  one  hand  each  way.  Now  spring  to  the  top  and 
stand  ;  now  spring  between  the  hands  forward,  now  back- 
ward ;  now  take  a  good  impetus,  spread  your  feet  far 
apart,  and  leap  over  it,  letting  go  the  hands.  Grasp  the 
pommels  again  and  throw  a  somerset  over  it,  —  coming 
down  on  your  feet,  if  the  Fates  permit.  Now  vault  up 
and  sit  upon  the  horse,  at  one  end,  knees  the  same  side ; 
now  grasp  the  pommels  and  whirl  yourself  round  till  you 
sit  at  the  other  end,  facing  the  other  way.  Now  spring 
up  and  bestride  it ;  whirl  round  till  you  bestride  it  the 
other  way,  at  the  other  end ;  do  it  once  again,  and,  letting 
go  your  hand,  seat  yourself  in  the  saddle.  Now  push 
away  the  spring-board  and  repeat  every  feat  without  its 
aid.  Next,  take  a  run  and  spring  upon  the  end  of  the 
horse  astride ;  then  walk  over,  supporting  yourself  on 
your  hands  alone,  the  legs  not  touching ;  then  backward, 
the  same.  It  will  be  hard  to  balance  yourself  at  first, 
and  reu  will  careen  uneasily  one  way  or  the  other ;  no 
matter,  you  will  get  over  it  somehow.  Lastly,  mount  onco 
more,  kneel  in  the  saddle,  and  leap  to  the  ground.  It 


150  GYMNASTICS. 

appears  at  first  ridiculously  impracticable,  the  knees  seem 
glued  to  their  position,  and  it  looks  as  if  one  would  fall 
inevitably  on  bis  face ;  but  falling  is  hardly  possible. 
Any  novice  can  do  it,  if  he  will  only  have  faith.  You 
shall  learn  to  do  it  from  the  horizontal  bar  presently, 
where  it  looks  much  more  formidable. 

But  first  you  must  learn  some  simpler  exercises  on  this 
horizontal  bar :  you  observe  that  it  is  made  movable,  and 
may  be  placed  as  low  as  your  knee,  or  higher  than  your 
hand  can  reach.  This  bar  is  only  five  inches  in  circum- 
ference ;  but  it  is  remarkably  strong  and  springy,  and  there- 
fore we  hope  secure,  though  for  some  exercises  our  boys 
prefer  to  substitute  a  larger  one.  Try  and  vault  it,  first 
to  the  right,  then  to  the  left,  as  you  did  with  the  horse ; 
try  first  with  one  hand,  then  see  how  high  you  can  vault 
with  both.  Now  vault  it  between  your  hands,  forward 
and  backward :  the  latter  will  bafHe  you,  unless  you  have 
brought  an  unusual  stock  of  India-rubber  in  your  frame, 
to  begin  with.  Raise  it  higher  and  higher,  till  you  can 
vault  it  no  longer.  Now  spring  up  on  the  bar,  resting 
on  your  palms,  and  vault  over  from  that  position  with  a 
swing  of  your  body,  without  touching  the  ground ;  when 
you  have  once  managed  this,  you  can  vault  as  high  as 
you  can  reach :  double-vaulting  this  is  called.  Now  put 
the  bar  higher  than  your  head ;  grasp  it  with  your  hands, 
and  draw  yourself  up  till  you  look  over  it ;  repeat  this  a 
good  many  times :  capital  practice  this,  as  is  usually  said 
of  things  particularly  tiresome.  Take  hold  of  the  bar 
again,  and  with  a  good  spring  from  the  ground  try  to  curl 
your  body  over  it,  feet  foremost.  At  first,  in  all  proba- 
bility, your  legs  will  go  angling  in  the  air  convulsively, 
and  come  down  with  nothing  caught;  but  erelong  we 
shall  see  you  dispense  with  the  spring  from  the  ground 


GYMNASTICS.  .         151 

and  go  whirling  over  and  over,  as  if  the  bar  were  the 
axle  of  a  wheel  and  your  legs  the  spokes.  Now  spring 
upon  the  bar,  supporting  yourself  on  your  palms,  as  be- 
fore;  put  your  hands  a  little  farther  apart,  with  the 
thumbs  forward,  then  suddenly  bring  up  your  knees  on 
the  bar  and  let  your  whole  body  go  over  forward :  you 
will  not  fall,  if  your  hands  have  a  good  grasp.  Try  it 
again  with  your  feet  outside  your  hands,  instead  of  be- 
tween them  ;  then  once  again  flinging  your  body  off  from 
the  bar  and  describing  a  long  curve  with  it,  arms  stiff: 
this  is  called  the  Giant's  Swing.  Now  hang  to  the  bar 
by  the  knee?, — by  both  knees;  do  not  try  it  yet  with 
one;  then  seize  the  bar  with  your  hands  and  thrust  the 
legs  still  farther  and  farther  forward,  pulling  with  your 
arms  at  the  same  time,  till  you  find  yourself  sitting  un- 
accountably on  the  bar  itself.  This  our  boys  cheeifully 
denominate  "  skinning  the  cat,"  because  the  sensations  it 
suggests,  on  a  first  experiment,  are  supposed  to  resemble 
those  of  pussy  with  her  skin  drawn  over  her  head ;  but, 
after  a  few  experiments,  it  seems  like  stroking  the  fur  in 
the  right  direction,  and  grows  rather  pleasant. 

Try  now  the  parallel  bars,  the  most  invigorating  appa- 
ratus of  the  gymnasiifm,  and  in  its  beginnings  "  accessi- 
ble to  the  meanest  capacity,"  since  there  are  scarcely  any 
who  cannot  support  themselves  by  the  hands  on  the  bar?, 
and  not  very  many  who  cannot  walk  a  few  steps  upon  the 
palms,  at  the  first  trial.  Soon  you  will  learn  to  swing 
along  these  bars  in  long  surges  of  motion,  forward  and 
backward  ;  to  go  through  them,  in  a  series  of  springs  from 
the  hand  only,  without  a  jerk  of  the  knees  ;  to  turn  round 
and  round  between  them,  going  forward  or  backward  all 
the  while  ;  to  vault  over  them  and  under  them  in  compli- 
cated ways  ;  to  turn  somersets  in  them  and  across  them; 


152  GYMNASTICS. 

to  roll  over  and  over  on  them  as  a  porpoise  seems  to  roll 
in  the  sea.  Then  come  the  "  low-standing  "  exercises,  the 
grasshopper  style  of  business ;  supporting  yourself  now 
with  arms  not  straight,  but  bent  at  the  elbow,  you  shall 
learn  to  raise  and  lower  your  body,  and  to  hold  or  swing 
yourself  as  lightly  in  that  position  as  if  you  had  not  felt 
pinioned  and  paralyzed  hopelessly  at  the  first  trial ;  and 
whole  new  systems  of  muscles  shall  seem  to  shoot  out 
from  your  shoulder-blades  to  enable  you  to  do  what  you 
could  not  have  dreamed  of  doing  before.  These  bars  are 
magical,  —  they  are  conduits  of  power  ;  you  cannot  touch 
them,  you  cannot  rest  your  weight  on  them  in  the  slightest 
degree,  without  causing  strength  to  How  into  your  body  as 
naturally  and  irresistibly  as  water  into  the  aqueduct-pipe 
when  you  turn  it  on.  Do  you  but  give  the  opportunity, 
and  every  pulsation  of  blood  from  your  heart  is  pledged 
for  the  rest 

These  exercises,  and  such  as  these,  are  among  the  ele- 
mentary lessons  of  gymnastic  training.  Practise  these 
thoroughly  and  patiently,  and  you  will  in  time  attain  evo- 
lutions more  complicated,  and,  if  you  wish,  more  perilous. 
Neglect  these,  to  grasp  at  random  after  everything  which 
you  see  others  doing,  and  you  will  fail  like  a  bookkeeper 
who  is  weak  in  the  multiplication-table.  The  older  yon 
begin,  the  more  gradual  the  preparation  must  be.  A 
respectable  middle-aged  citizen,  bent  on  improving  his 
physique,  goes  into  a  gymnasium,  and  sees  slight,  smooth- 
faced boys  going  gayly  through  a  series  of  exercises 
which  show  their  bodies  to  be  a  triumph,  not  a  drag,  and 
he  is  assured  that  the  same  might  be  the  case  with  him. 
Off  goes  the  coat  of  our  enthusiast,  and  in  he  plunges  ;  he 
gripes  a  heavy  dumb-bell  and  strains  one  shoulder,  hauls 
at  a  weight-box  and  strains  the  other,  vaults  the  bar  and 


GYMNASTICS.  153 

bruises  his  knee,  swings  in  the  rings  once  or  twice  till  his 
hand  slips  and  he  falls  to  the  floor.  No  matter,  he  thinks 
the  cause  demands  sacrifices ;  but  he  subsides,  for  the 
next  fifteen  minutes,  into  more  moderate  exercises,  which 
he  still  makes  immoderate  by  his  awkward  way  of  doing 
them.  Nevertheless,  he  goes  home,  cheerful  under  diffi- 
culties, and  will  try  again  to-morrow.  To-morrow  finds 
him  stiff,  lame,  and  wretched ;  he  cannot  lift  his  arm  to 
his  face  to  shave,  nor  lower  it  sufficiently  to  pull  his  boots 
on  ;  his  little  daughter  must  help  him  with  his  shoes,  and 
the  indignant  wife  of  his  bosom  must  put  on  his  hat,  with 
that  ineffectual  one-sidedness  to  which  alone  the  best- 
regulated  female  mind  can  attain,  in  this  difficult  part  of 
costuming.  His  sorrows  increase  as  the  day  passes  ;  the 
gymnasium  alone  can  relieve  them,  but  his  soul  shudders 
at  the  remedy  ;  and  he  can  conceive  of  nothing  so  absurd 
as  a  second  gymnastic  lesson,  except  a  first  one.  But  had 
he  been  wise  enough  to  place  himself  under  an  expe- 
i-ienced  adviser  at  the  very  beginning,  he  would  have 
l»een  put  through  a  few  simple  movements  which  would 
have  sent  him  home  glowing  and  refreshed,  and  fancying 
himself  half-way  back  to  boyhood  again  ;  the  slight  ache 
and  weariness  of  next  day  would  have  been  cured  by 
next  day's  exercise  ;  and  after  six  months'  patience,  by  a 
progress  almost  imperceptible,  he  would  have  found  him- 
self, in  respect  to  strength  and  activity,  a  'transformed 
man. 

Most  of  these  discomforts,  of  course,  are  spared  to  boys ; 
their  frames  are  more  elastic,  and  less  liable  to  ache  and 
strain.  They  learn  gymnastics,  as  they  learn  everything 
else,  more  readily  than  their  elders.  Begin  with  a  boy- 
early  enough,  and  if  he  be  of  a  suitable  temperament,  he 
can  learn  in  the  gymnasium  all  the  feats  usually  seen  in 
7* 


154  GYMNASTICS. 

the  circus-ring,  and  could  even  acquire  more  difficult 
ones,  if  it  were  worth  his  while  to  try  them.  This  is  true 
even  of  the  air-somerset«  and  hand-springs  which  are  not 
so  commonly  cultivated  by  gymnasts  ;  but  it  is.  especially 
true  of  all  exercises  with  apparatus.  It  is  astonishing 
how  readily  our  classes  pick  up  any  novelty  brought  into 
town  by  a  strolling  company,  —  holding  the  body  out  hor- 
izontally from  an  upright  pole,  or  hanging  by  the  back  of 
the  head,  or  touching  the  head  to  the  heels,  though  this 
last  is  oftener  tried  than  accomplished.  They  may  be 
seen  practising  these  antics,  at  all  spare  moments,  for 
weeks,  until  some  later  hobby  drives  them  away.  From 
Blondin  downward?,  the  public  feats  derive  a  large  part 
of  their  wonder  from  the  imposing  height  in  the  air  at 
which  they  are  done.  Many  a  young  man  who  can  swing 
himself  more  than  his  own  length  on  the  horizontal  lad- 
der at  the  gymnasium  has  yet  shuddered  at  techelle  peril- 
leuse  of  the  Hanlons  ;  and  I  noticed  that  even  the  simplest 
of  their  performances,  such  as  holding  by  one  hand,  or 
hanging  by  the  knees,  seemed  perfectly  terrific  when 
done  at  a  height  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet  in  the  air,  even 
to  those  who  had  done  them  a  hundred  times  at  a  lower 
level.  It  was  the  nerve  that  was  astounding,  not  the 
strength  or  skill ;  but  the  eye  found  it  hard  to  draw  the 
distinction.  So  when  a  gymnastic  friend  of  mine,  cross- 
ing the  ocean  lately,  amused  himself  with  hanging  by  one 
leg  to  the  mizzen-topmast-stay,  the  boldest  sailors  shud- 
dered, though  the  feat  itself  was  nothing,  save  to  the 
imagination. 

Indeed,  it  is  almost  impossible  for  an  inexperienced 
spectator  to  form  the  slightest  opinion  as  to  the  compara- 
tive difficulty  or  danger  of  different  exercises,  since  it  is 
the  test  of  merit  to  make  the  hardest  things  look  easy. 


GYMNASTICS.  155 

Moreover,  there  may  be  a  distinction  between  two  feats 
almost  imperceptible  to  the  eye,  —  a  change,  for  instance, 
in  the  position  of  the  hands  on  a  bar,  —  which  may  at 
once  transform  the  thing  from  a  trifle  to  a  wonder.  An 
unpractised  eye  can  no  more  appreciate  the  difficulty  of  a 
gymnastic  exercise  by  seeing  it  executed,  than  an  inex- 
perienced ear  can  judge  of  the  perplexities  of  a  piece  of 
music  by  hearing  it  played. 

The  first  effect  of  gymnastic  exercise  is  almost  always 
to  increase  the  size  of  the  arms  and  the  chest ;  and  new- 
comers may  commonly  be  known  by  their  frequent  re- 
course to  the  tape-measure.  The  average  increase  among 
the  students  of  Harvard  University  during  the  first  three 
months  of  the  gymnasium  was  nearly  two  inches  in  the 
chest,  more  than  one  inch  in  the  upper  arm,  and  more 
than  half  an  inch  in  the  fore-arm.  This  was  far  beyond 
what  the  unassisted  growth  of  their  age  would  account 
for ;  and  the  increase  is  always  very  marked  for  a  time, 
especially  with  thin  persons.  In  those  of  fuller  habit  the 
loss  of  flesh  may  counterbalance  the  gain  in  muscle,  so 
that  size  and  weight  remain  the  same ;  and  in  all  cases 
the  increase  stops  after  a  time,  and  the  subsequent  change 
is  rather  in  texture  than  in  volume.  Mere  size  is  no  in- 
dex of  strength :  Dr.  Windship  is  scarcely  larger  or 
heavier  now  than  when  he  had  not  half  his  present 
powers. 

In  the  vigor  gained  by  exercise  there  is  nothing  false 
or  morbid  ;  it  is  as  reliable  as  hereditary  strength,  except 
that  it  is  more  easily  relaxed  by  indolent  habits.  No 
doubt  it  is  aggravating  to  see  some  robust,  lazy  giant 
come  into  the  gymnasium  for  the  first  time,  and  by  hered- 
itary muscle  shoulder  a  dumb-bell  which  all  your  training 
has  not  taught  you  to  handle.  No  matter ;  it  is  by  com- 


150  GYMNASTICS. 

paring  yourself  with  yourself  that  the  estimate  is  to  be 
made.  As  the  writing-master  exhibits  with  triumph  to 
each  departing  pupil  the  uncouth  copy  which  he  wrote  on 
entering,  so  it  will  be  enough  to  you,  if  you  can  appre- 
ciate your  present  powers  with  your  original  inabilities. 
When  you  first  joined  the  gymnastic  class,  you  could  not 
climb  yonder  smooth  mast,  even  with  all  your  limbs 
brought  into  service  ;  now  you  can  do  it  with  your  hands 
alone.  When  you  came,  you  could  not  possibly,  when 
hanging  by  your  hands  to  the  horizontal  bar,  raise  your 
feet  as  high  as  your  head,  —  nor  could  you,  with  any 
amount  of  spring  from  the  ground,  curl  your  body  over 
the  bar  itself;  and  now  you  can  hang  at  arm's  length  and 
fling  yourself  over  it  a  dozen  times  in  succession.  At 
first,  if  you  lowered  yourself  with  bent  elbows  between 
the  parallel  bars,  you  could  not  by  any  manoeuvre  get  up 
again,  but  sank  to  the  ground  a  hopeless  wreck ;  now  you 
can  raise  and  lower  yourself  an  indefinite  number  of 
times.  As  for  the  weights  and  clubs  and  dumb-bells,  you 
feel  as  if  there  must  be  some  jugglery  about  them,  — 
they  have  grown  so  much  lighter  than  they  used  to  be. 
It  is  you  who  have  gained  a  double  set  of  muscles  to 
every  limb ;  that  ;s  all.  Strike  out  from  the  shoulder 
with  your  clenched  hand  ;  once  your  arm  was  loose-joint- 
ed and  shaky  ;  now  it  is  firm  and  tense,  and  begins  to  feel 
like  a  natural  arm.  Moreover,  strength  and  suppleness 
have  grown  together ;  you  have  not  stiffened  by  becom- 
ing stronger,  but  find  yourself  more  flexible.  When  you 
first  came  here,  you  could  not  touch  your  fingers  to  the 
ground  without  bending  the  knees,  and  now  you  can 
place  your  knuckles  on  the  floor ;  then  you  could  scarcely 
bend  yourself  backward,  and  now  you  can  lay  the  back  of 
your  head  in  a  chair,  or  walk,  without  crouching  forward, 


GYMNASTICS.  157 

under  a  bar  less  than  three  feet  from  the  ground.  You 
have  found,  indeed,  that  almost  every  feat  is  done  origi- 
nally by  sheer  strength,  and  then  by  agility,  requiring  very 
little  expenditure  of  force  after  the  precise  motion  is  hit 
upon  ;  at  first  labor,  puffing,  and  a  red  face,  —  afterwards 
ease  and  the  graces. 

To  a  person  who  begins  after  the  age  of  thirty  or  there- 
abouts, the  increase  of  strength  and  suppleness,  of  course, 
comes  more  slowly ;  yet  it  comes  as  surely,  and  perhaps 
it  is  a  more  permanent  acquisition,  less  easily  lost  again, 
than  in  the  softer  frame  of  early  youth.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  men  of  sixty  have  experienced  a  decided  gain 
in  strength  and  health  by  beginning  gymnastic  exercises 
even  at  that  age,  as  Socrates  learned  to  dance  at  seventy ; 
and  if  they  have  practised  similar  exercises  all  their 
lives,  so  much  is  added  to  their  chance  of  preserving 
physical  youthfulness  to  the  last.  Jerome  and  Gabriel 
Ravel  are  reported  to  have  spent  near  threescore  years 
on  the  planet  which  their  winged  feet  have  so  lightly 
trod ;  and  who  will  dare  to  say  how  many  winters  have 
passed  over  the  head  of  the  still  young  and  graceful 
Papanti  ? 

Dr.  Windship's  most  important  experience  is,  that 
strength  is  to  a  certain  extent  identical  with  health,  so 
that  every  increase  in  muscular  development  is  an  actual 
protection  against  disease.  Americans,  who  are  ashamed 
to  confess  to  doing  the  most  innocent  thing  for  the  sake 
of  mere  enjoyment,  must  be  cajoled  into  every  form  of 
exercise  under  the  plea  of  health.  Joining,  the  other 
day,  in  a  children's  dance,  I  was  amused  by  a  solemn  par- 
ent who  turned  to  me,  in  the  midst  of  a  Virginia  reel, — 
he  still  conscientious,  though  breathless,  —  and  asked  if  I 
did  not  consider  dancing  to  be,  on  the  whole,  a  healthy 


158  GYMNASTICS. 

exercise  ?  Well,  the  gymnasium  is  healthy  ;"  but  the  less 
you  dwell  on  that  fact,  the  better,  after  you  have  once 
entered  it.  If  it  does  you  good,  you  will  enjoy  it ;  and 
if  you  enjoy  it,  it  will  do  you  good.  With  body,  as  with 
soul,  the  highest  experience  merges  duty  in  pleasure. 
The  better  one's  condition  is,  the  less  one  has  to  think 
about  growing  better,  and  the  more  unconsciously  one's 
natural  instincts  guide  the  right  way.  When  ill,  we  eat 
to  support  life ;  when  well,  we  eat  because  the  food  tastes 
good.  It  is  a  merit  of  the  gymnasium,  that,  when  prop- 
erly taken,  it  makes  one  forget  to  think  about  health  or 
anything  else  that  is  troublesome  ;  M  a  man  remembereth 
neither  sorrow  nor  debt "  ;  cares  must  be  left  outside,  be 
they  physical  or  metaphysical,  like  canes  at  the  door  of  a 
museum. 

No  doubt,  to  some  it  grows  tedious.  It  shares  this 
objection  with  all  means  of  exercise.  To  be  an  Ameri- 
can is  to  hunger  for  novelty;  and  all  instruments  and 
appliances,  especially,  require  constant  modification  :  we 
are  dissatisfied  with  last  winter's  skates,  with  the  old  boat, 
and  with  the  family  pony.  So  the  zealot  finds  the  gym- 
nasium insufficient  long  before  he  has  learned  half  the 
moves.  To  some  temperaments  it  becomes  a  treadmill, 
and  that,  strangely  enough,  to  diametrically  opposite  tem- 
peraments. A  lethargic  youth,  requiring  great  effort  to 
keep  himself  awake  between  the  exercises,  thinks  the 
gymnasium  slow,  because  he  is  ;  while  an  eager,  impetu- 
ous young  fellow,  exasperated  because  he  cannot  in  a 
fortnight  draw  himself  up  by  one  hand,  finds  the  same 
trouble  there  as  elsewhere,  that  the  laws  of  Nature  are 
not  fast  enough  for  his  inclinations.  No  one  without 
energy,  no  one  without  patience,  can  find  permanent  in- 
terest in  a  gymnasium ;  but  with  these  qualities,  and  a 


GYMNASTICS.  Io9 

modest  willingness  to  live  and  learn,  I  do  not  see  why 
one  should  ever  grow  tired  of  the  moderate  use  of  its 
apparatus.  For  one,  I  really  never  enter  it  without 
exhilaration,  or  leave  it  without  a  momentary  regret: 
there  are  always  certain  special  new  things  on  the 
docket  for  trial;  and  when  those  are  settled,  there  will 
be  something  more.  It  is  amazing  what  a  variety 
of  interest  can  be  extracted  from  those  few  bits  of 
wood  and  rope  and  iron.  There  is  always  somebody 
in  advance,  some  "man  on  horseback"  on  a  wooden 
horse,  some  India-rubber  hero,  some  slight  and  powerful 
fellow  who  does  with  ease  what  you  fail  to  do  with  toil, 
some  terrible  Dr.  Windship  with  an  ever-waxing  dumb- 
bell. The  interest  becomes  semi-professional.  A  good 
gymnast  enjoys  going  into  a  new  and  well-appointed 
establishment,  precisely  as  a  sailor  enjoys  a  well-rigged 
ship  ;  every  rope  and  spar  is  scanned  with  intelligent  in- 
terest ;  u  we  know  the  forest  round  us  as  seamen  know 
the  sea."  The  pupils  talk  gymnasium  as  some  men  talk 
horse.  A  particularly  smooth  and  flexible  horizontal 
pole,  a  desirable  pair  of  parallel  bars,  a  remarkably  elas- 
tic spring-board,  —  these  are  matters  of  personal  pride, 
and  described  from  city  to  city  with  loving  enthusiasm. 
The  gymnastic  apostle  rises  to  eloquence  in  proportion  to 
the  height  of  the  hand-swings,  and  points  his  climax  to 
match  the  peak-ladders. 

An  objection  frequently  made  to  the  gymnasium,  and 
especially  by  anxious  parents,  is  the  supposed  danger  of 
accident.  But  this  peril  is  obviously  inseparable  from  all 
physical  activity.  If  a  man  never  leaves  his  house,  the 
chances  undoubtedly  are,  that  he  will  never  break  his  leg 
on  the  sidewalk ;  but  if  he  is  always  to  stay  in  the  house, 
he  might  as  well  have  no  legs  at  all.  Certainly  we  incur 


160  GYMNASTICS. 

danger  every  time  we  go  outside  the  front-door ;  but  to 
remain  always  on  the  inside  would  prove  the  greatest 
danger  of  the  whole.  When  a  man  slips  in  the  street 
and  dislocates  his  arm,  we  do  not  warn  him  against  walk- 
ing, but  against  carelessness.  When  a  man  is  thrown 
from  his  horse  and  gratifies  the  surgeons  by  a  beautiful 
case  of  compound  fracture,  we  do  not  advise  him  to  avoid 
a  riding-school,  but  to  go  to  one.  Trivial  accidents  are 
not  uncommon  in  the  gymnasium,  severe  ones  are  rare, 
fatal  ones  almost  unheard  of,  —  which  is  far  more  than 
can  be  said  of  riding,  driving,  hunting,  boating,  skating,  or 
even  sliding  down  hill  on  a  sled.  Learning  gymnastics  is 
like  learning  to  swim,  —  you  incur  a  small  temporary  risk 
for  the  sake  of  acquiring  powers  that  will  lessen  your  risks 
in  the  end.  Your  increased  strength  and  agility  will  carry 
you  past  many  unseen  perils  hereafter,  and  the  invigorated 
tone  of  your  system  will  make  accidents  less  important,  if 
they  happen.  Some  trifling  sprain  causes  lameness  for 
life,  some  slight  blow  brings  on  wasting  disease,  to  a  per- 
son whose  health  is  merely  negative,  not  positive, —  while 
a  well-trained  frame  throws  it  off  in  twenty-four  hours. 
It  is  almost  proverbial  of  the  gymnasium,  that  it  cures  its 
own  wounds. 

A  minor  objection  is,  that  these  exercises  are  not  per- 
formed in  the  open  air.  In  summer,  however,  they  may 
be,  and  in  winter  and  in  stormy  weather  it  is  better  that 
they  should  not  be.  Extreme  cold  is  not  favorable  to 
them  ;  it  braces,  but  stiffens  ;  and  the  bars  and  ropes 
become  slippery  and  even  dangerous.  In  Germany  it 
is  common  to  have  a  double  set  of  apparatus,  out-doors 
and  in-doors  ;  and  this  would  always  be  desirable,  but  for 
the  increased  expense.  Moreover,  the  gymnasium  should 
be  taken  in  addition  to  out-door  exercise,  giving,  for  in- 


GYMNASTICS.  161 

stance,  an  hour  a  day  to  each,  one  for  training,  the  other 
for  oxygen.  I  know  promising  gymnasts  whose  pallid 
complexions  show  that  their  blood  is  not  worthy  of  their 
muscle,  and  they  will  break  down.  But  these  cases  are 
rare,  for  the  reason  already  hinted,  —  that  nothing  gives 
so  good  an  appetite  for  out-door  life  as  this  in-door  activity. 
It  alternates  admirably  with  skating,  and  seduces  irresist- 
ibly into  walking  or  rowing  when  spring  arrives. 

My  young  friend  Silverspoon,  indeed,  thinks  that  a 
good  trot  on  a  fast  horse  is  worth  all  the  gymnastics  in 
the  world.  But  I  learn,  on  inquiry,  that  my  'young 
friend's  mother  is  constantly  imploring  him  to  ride  in 
order  to  air  her  horses.  It  is  a  beautiful  parental  trait; 
but  for  those  born  horseless,  what  an  economical  substi- 
tute is  the  wooden  quadruped  of  the  gymnasium !  Our 
Autocrat  has  well  said,  that  the  livery-stable  horse  is  "  a 
profligate  animal " ;  and  I  do  not  wonder  that  the  Cen- 
taurs of  old  should  be  suspected  of  having  originated 
spurious  coin.  Undoubtedly  it  was  to  pay  for  the  hire 
of  their  own  hoofs. 

For  young  men  in  cities,  too,  the  facilities  for  exercise 
are  limited  not  only  by  money,  but  by  time.  They  must 
commonly  take  it  after  dark.  It  is  in  every  way  a  bless- 
ing, when  the  gymnasium  divides  their  evenings  with  the 
concert,  the  book,  or  the  public  meeting.  Then  there  is 
no  time  It-ft,  and  small  temptation,  for  pleasures  less  pure 
It  gives  an  innocent  answer  to  that  first  demand  for  even 
ing  excitement  which  perils  the  soul  of  the  homeless  boy 
in  the  seductive  city.  The  companions  whom  he  meets 
at  the  gymnasium  are  not  the  ones  whose  pursuits  of  later 
nocturnal  hours  will  entice  him  to  sin.  The  honest  fatigue 
of  his  exorcises  calls  for  honest  rest.  It  is  the  nervous 
exhaustion  of  a  sedentary,  frivolous,  or  joyless  life  which 


162  GYMNASTICS. 

madly  tries  to  restore  itself  by  the  other  nervous  exhaus- 
tion of  debauchery.     It  is  an  old  prescription,  — 
"  Multa  tulit  fecitque  puer,  sudavit  et  alsit, 
Abstinuit  venere  et  vino." 

There  is  another  class  of  critics  whose  cant  is  simply 
can't,  and  who,  being  unable  or  unwilling  to  surrender 
themselves  to  these  simple  sources  of  enjoyment,  are 
grandiloquent  upon  the  dignity  of  manhood,  and  the 
absurdity  of  full-grown  men  iu  playing  monkey-tricks 
with  their  bodies.  Full-grown  men  ?  There  is  not  a 
person  in  the  world  who  can  afford  to  be  a  "  full-grown 
man  "  through  all  the  twenty-four  hours.  There  is  not 
one  who  does  not  need,  more  than  he  needs  his  dinner,  to 
have  habitually  one  hour  in  the  day  when  he  throws  him- 
self with  boyish  eagerness  into  interests  as  simple  as  those 
of  boys.  No  church  or  state,  no  science  or  art,  can  feed 
us  all  the  time ;  some  morsels  there  must  be  of  simpler 
diet,  some  moments  of  unadulterated  play.  But  dignity  ? 
Alas  for  that  poor  soul  whose  dignity  must  be  "preserved," 
—  preserved  in  the  right  culinary  sense,  as  fruits  which 
are  growing  dubious  in  their  natural  state  are  sealed  up 
in  jars  to  make  their  acidity  presentable !  "  There  's 
beggary  in  the  love  that  can  be  reckoned,"  and  degrada- 
tion in  the  dignity  that  has  to  be  preserved.  Simplicity 
is  the  only  dignity.  If  one  has  not  the  genuine  article, 
no  affluence  of  starch,  no  snow-drift  of  white-linen  decen- 
cy, will  furnish  any  substitute.  If  one  has  it,  he  will 
retain  it,  whether  he  stand  on  his  head  or  his  heels. 
Nothing  is  really  undignified  but  affectation  or  conceit; 
and  for  the  total  extinction  and  annihilation  of  every  ves- 
tige of  these,  there  are  few  things  so  effectual  as  athletic 
exercises. 

Still  another  objection  is  that  of  the  medical  men,  that 


GYMNASTICS.  163 

the  gymnasium,  as  commonly  used,  is  not  a  specific  pre- 
scription for  the  special  disease  of  the  patient.  But  set- 
ting aside  the  claims  of  the  system  of  applied  gymnastics, 
which  Ling  and  his  followers  have  so  elaborated,  it  is 
enough  to  answer,  that  the  one  great  fundamental  disor- 
der of  all  Americans  is  simply  nervous  exhaustion,  and 
that  for  this  the  gymnasium  can  never  be  misdirected, 
though  it  may  be  used  to  excess.  Of  course  one  can  no 
more  cure  overwork  of  brain  by  overwork  of  body,  than 
one  can  restore  a  wasted  candle  by  lighting  it  at  the  other 
end.  But  by  subtracting  an  hour  a  day  from  the  present 
amount  of  purely  intellectual  fatigue,  and  inserting  that 
quantum  of  bodily  fatigue  in  its  place,  you  begin  an  imme- 
diate change  in  your  conditions  of  life.  Moreover,  the 
great  object  is  not  merely  to  get  well,  but  to  keep  well. 
The  exhaustion  of  overwork  can  almo-t  always  be  cured 
by  a  water-cure,  or  by  a  voyage,  which  is  a  salt-water 
cure ;  but  the  problem  is,  how  to  make  the  whole  voyage 
of  life  perpetually  self-curative.  Without  this,  there  is 
perpetual  dissatisfaction  and  chronic  failure.  Emerson 
well  says,  "  Each  class  fixes  its  eye  on  the  advantages  it 
has  not,  —  the  refined  on  rude  strength,  the  democrat  on 
birth  and  breeding."  This  is  the  aim  of  the  gymnasium, 
to  give  to  the  refined  this  rude  strength,  or  its  better  sub- 
stitute, refined  strength.  It  is  something  to  secure  to  the 
student  or  the  clerk  the  strong  muscles,  hearty  appetite, 
and  sound  sleep  of  the  sailor  and  the  ploughman,  —  to 
enable  him,  if  need  be,  to  out-row  the  fisherman,  and  out- 
run the  mountaineer,  and  lift  more  than  his  porter,  and  to 
remember  headache  and  dyspepsia  only  as  he  recalls  the 
primeval  whooping-cough  of  his  childhood.  I  am  one  of 
those  who  think  that  the  Autocrat  rides  his  hobby  of  the 
pavements  a  little  too  far ;  but  it  is  useless  to  deny,  that, 


164  GYMNASTICS. 

within  the  last  few  years  of  gymnasiums  and  boat-clubs, 
the  city  has  been  gaining  on  the  country  in  physical 
development.  Here  in  our  town  we  had  all  the  city  and 
college  boys  assembled  in  July  to  see  the  regattas,  and  all 
the  country-boys  in  September  to  see  the  thousand-dollar 
base-ball  match  ;  and  it  was  impossible  to  deny,  whatever 
one's  theories,  that  the  guests  of  the  regatta  showed  the 
finer  physique. 

The  secret  is,  that,  though  the  country  offers  to  farmers 
more  oxygen  than  is  accessible  to  anybody  in  the  city, 
yet  not  all  dwellers  in  the  country  are  farmers,  and  even 
this  favored  class  suffer  from  other  causes,  being  usually 
the  very  last  to  receive  those  lessons  of  food  and  clothing 
and  bathing  and  ventilation  which  have  their  origin  in 
cities.  Physical  training  is  not  a  mechanical,  but  a  vital 
process  :  no  bricks  without  straw ;  no  good  physique  with- 
out good  materials  and  conditions.  The  farmer  knows, 
that,  to  rear  a  premium  colt  or  calf,  he  must  oversee  every 
morsel  that  it  eats,  every  motion  it  makes,  every  breath 
it  draws,  —  must  guard  against  over-work  and  under-work, 
cold  and  heat,  wet  and  dry.  He  remembers  it  for  the 
quadrupeds,  but  he  forgets  it  for  his  children,  his  wife,  and 
himself:  so  his  cattle  deserve  a  premium,  and  his  family 
does  not. 

Neglect  is  the  danger  of  the  country ;  the  peril  of  the 
city  is  in  living  too  fast.  All  mental  excitement  acts  as  a 
stimulant,  and,  like  all  stimulants,  debilitates  when  taken 
in  excess.  This  explains  the  unnatural  strength  and 
agility  of  the  insane,  always  followed  by  prostration ;  and 
even  moderate  cerebral  excitement  produces  similar  re- 
sults, so  far  as  it  goes.  Quetelet  discovered  that  some- 
times after  lecturing,  or  other  special  intellectual  action, 
he  could  perform  gymnastic  feats  impossible  to  him  at 


GYMNASTICS.  165 

other  times.  The  fact  is  unquestionable ;  and  it  is  also 
certain  that  an  extreme  in  this  direction  has  precisely  the 
contrary  effect,  and  is  fatal  to  the  physical  condition.  One 
may  spring  up  from  a  task  of  moderate  mental  labor  with 
a  sense  of  freedom,  like  a  bow  let  loose  ;  but  after  an  im- 
moderate task  one  feels  like  the  same  bow  too  long  bent, 
flaccid,  nerveless,  all  the  elasticity  gone.  Such  fatigue  is 
far  more  overwhelming  than  any  mere  physical  exhaus- 
tion. I  have  lounged  into  the  gymnasium,  after  an  after- 
noon's skating,  supposing  myself  quite  tired,  and  have 
found  myself  in  excellent  condition ;  and  I  have  gone  in 
after  an  hour  or  two  of  some  specially  concentrated  anx- 
iety or  thought,  without  being  aware  that  the  body  was  at 
all  fatigued,  and  found  it  good  for  nothing.  Such  experi- 
ences are  invaluable ;  all  the  libraries  cannot  so  illustrate 
the  supremacy  of  immaterial  forces.  Thought,  passion, 
purpose,  expectation,  absorbed  attention  even,  all  feed 
upon  the  body's  powers ;  let  them  act  one  atom  too  in- 
tensely, or  one  moment  too  long,  and  this  wondrous  physi- 
cal organization  finds  itself  drained  of  its  forces  to  sup- 
port them.  It  does  not  seem  strange  that  strong  men 
should  have  died  by  a  single  ecstasy  of  emotion  too  con- 
vulsive, when  we  bear  within  us  this  tremendous  engine 
whose  slightest  pulsation  so  throbs  in  every  fibre  of  our 
frame. 

The  relation  between  mental  culture  and  physical  pow- 
ers is  a' subject  of  the  greatest  interest,  as  yet  but  little 
touched,  because  so  few  of  our  physiologists  have  been 
practical  gymnasts.  Nothing  is  more  striking  than  the 
tendency  of  all  athletic  exercises,  when  brought  to  per- 
fection, to  eliminate  mere  brute  bulk  from  the  competi- 
tion, and  give  the  palm  to  more  subtile  qualities,  agility, 
quickness,  a  good  eye,  a  ready  hand,  —  in  short,  superior 


166  GYMNASTICS. 

fineness  of  organization.  Any  clown  can  leani  the  mili 
tary  manual  exercise ;  but  it  needs  brain-power  to  drill 
with  the  Zouaves.  Even  a  prize-fight  tests  streLgth  less 
than  activity  and  "  science."  The  game  of  base-ball,  as 
played  in  our  boyhood,  was  a  simple,  robust,  straightfor- 
ward contest,  where  the  hardest  hitter  was  the  best  man  ; 
but  it  is  every  year  becoming  perfected  into  a  sleight-of- 
hand,  h'ke  cricket ;  mere  strength  is  now  almost  valueless 
in  playing  it,  and  it  calls  rather  for  the  qualities  of  the 
billiard-player.  In  the  last  champion-match  at  Worces- 
ter, nearly  the  whole  time  was  consumed  in  skilful  feints 
and  parryings,  and  it  took  five  days  to  make  fifty  runs. 
And  these  same  characteristics  mark  gymnastic  exercises 
above  all ;  men  of  great  natural  strength  are  very  apt  to 
be  too  slow  and  clumsy  for  them,  and  the  most  difficult 
feats  are  usually  done  by  persons  of  comparatively  deli- 
cate physique  and  a  certain  artistic  organization.  It  is 
this  predominance  of  the  nervous  temperament  which  is 
yet  destined  to  make  American  gymnasts  the  foremost  in 
the  world. 

Indeed,  the  gymnasium  is  as  good  a  place  for  the  study 
of  human  nature  as  any.  The  perpetual  analqgy  of  mind 
and  body  can  be  appreciated  only  where  both  are  trained 
with  equal  system.  In  both  departments  the  great  prizes 
are  not  won  by  the  most  astounding  special  powers,  but 
by  a  certain  harmonious  adaptation.  There  is  a  physical 
tact,  as  there  is  a  mental  tact  Every  process  is  accom- 
plished by  using  just  the  right  stress  at  just  the  right  mo- 
ment ;  but  no  two  persons  are  alike  in  the  length  of  time 
required  for  these  little  discoveries.  Gymnastic  genius 
lies  in  gaining  at  the  first  trial  what  will  cost  weeks  of 
perseverance  to  those  less  happily  gifted.  And  as  the 
close,  elastic  costume  which  is  worn  by  the  gymnast,  or 


GYMNASTICS.  167 

should  be  worn,  allows  no  merit  or  defect  of  figure  to  be 
concealed,  so  the  close  contact  of  emulation  exhibits  all 
the  varieties  of  temperament.  One  is  made  indolent  by 
success,  and  another  is  made  ardent;  one  is  discouraged 
by  failure,  and  another  aroused  by  it;  one  does  every- 
thing best  the  first  time  and  slackens  ever  after,  while 
another  always  begins  at  the  bottom  and  always  climbs  to 
the  top. 

One  of  the  most  enjoyable  things  in  these  mimic  emu- 
lations is  this  absolute  genuineness  in  their  gradations  of 
success.  In  the  great  world  outside,  there  is  no  immedi- 
ate and  absolute  test  for  merit.  There  are  cliques  and 
puffings  and  jealousies,  quarrels  of  authors,  tricks  of  trade, 
caucusing  in  politics,  hypocrisy  among  the  deacons.  We 
distrust  the  value  of  others'  successes,  they  distrust  ours, 
and  we  all  sometimes  distrust  our  own.  There  are  those 
who  believe  in  Shakespeare,  and  those  who  believe  in  Tup- 
per.  All  merit  is  measured  by  sliding  scales,  and  each 
has  his  own  theory  of  the  sliding.  In  a  dozen  centuries 
it  will  all  come  right,  no  doubt.  In  the  mean  time  there 
is  vanity  in  one  half  the  world,  and  vexation  of  spirit  in 
the  other  half,  and  each  man  joins  each  half  in  turn.  But 
once  enter  the  charmed  gate  of  the  gymnasium,  and  you 
leave  shams  behind.  Though  you  be  saint  or  sage,  no 
matter,  the  inexorable  laws  of  gravitation  are  around  you. 
If  you  flinch,  you  fail ;  if  you  slip,  you  fall.  That  bar, 
that  rope,  that  weight,  shall  test  you  absolutely.  Can  you 
handle  it,  it  is  well ;  but  if  not,  stand  aside  for  him  who 
can.  You  may  have  every  other  gift  and  grace,  it  counts 
for  nothing ;  he,  not  you,  is  the  man  for  the  hour.  The 
code  of  Spanish  aristocracy  is  slight  and  flexible  com- 
pared with  this  rigid  precedence.  It  is  Emerson's  As- 
traea  ;  each  registers  himself,  and  there  is  no  appeal.  No 


108  GYMNASTICS. 

use  to  kick  and  struggle,  no  use  to  apologize  ;  do  not  say 
that  to-night  you  are  tired,  last  night  you  felt  ill.  These 
excuses  may  serve  for  a  day,  but  no  longer.  A  slight 
margin  is  allowed  for  moods  and  variations,  but  it  is  not 
great  after  all.  One  revels  in  this  Palace  of  Truth : 
defeat  itself  is  a  satisfaction,  before  a  tribunal  of  such 
absolute  justice. 

This  contributes  to  that  healthful  ardor  with  which,  in 
these  exercises,  a  man  forgets  the  things  which  are  be- 
hind and  presses  forward  to  fresh  achievements.  This 
perpetually  saves  from  vanity ;  for  everything  seems  a 
trifle,  when  you  have  once  attained  to  it.  The  aim 
which  yesterday  filled  your  whole  gymnastic  horizon  you 
overtake  and  pass  as  a  boat  passes  a  buoy  :  until  passed, 
it  was  an  absorbing  goal ;  when  passed,  a  mere  speck  in 
the  distance.  Yesterday  you  could  swing  yourself  three 
rounds  upon  the  horizontal  ladder ;  to-day,  after  weeks 
of  effort,  you  have  suddenly  attained  to  the  fourth,  and 
instantly  all  that  long  laborious  effort  vanishes,  to  be 
formed  again  between  you  and  the  fifth  round  :  five,  five 
is  the  only  goal  for  heroic  labor  to-day  ;  and  when  five  is 
attained,  there  will  be  six,  and  so  on  while  the  Arabic 
numerals  hold  out.  A  childish  aim,  no  doubt ;  but  is  not 
this  what  we  all  recognize  as  the  privilege  of  childhood, 
to  obtain  exaggerated  enjoyment  from  little  things  ? 
When  you  have  come  to  the  really  difficult  feats  of  the 
gymnasium,  —  when  you  have  conquered  the  "  barber's 
curl "  and  the  "  peg-pole,"  —  when  you  can  draw  your- 
self up  by  one  arm,  and  perform  the  "  giant's  swing  "  over 
and  over,  without  changing  hands,  and  vault  the  horizon- 
tal bar  as  high  as  you  can  reach  it,  —  when  you  can  vault 
across  the  high  parallel  bars  between  your  hands  back- 
ward, or  walk  through  them  on  your  palms  with  your 


GYMNASTICS.  169 

feet  in  the  vicinity  of  the  ceiling,  —  then  you  will  reap 
the  reward  of  your  past  labors,  and  may  begin  to  call 
yourself  a  gymnast. 

It  is  pleasant  to  think,  that,  so  great  is  the  variety 
of  exercises  in  the  gymnasium,  even  physical  deficiencies 
and  deformities  do  not  wholly  exclude  from  its  benefits. 
I  have  seen  an  invalid  girl,  so  lame  from  childhood  that 
she  could  not  stand  without  support,  whose  general  health 
had  been  restored,  and  her  bust  and  arms  made  a  study 
for  a  sculptor,  by  means  of  gymnastics.  Nay,  there  are 
odd  compensations  of  Nature  by  which  even  exceptional 
formations  may  turn  to  account  in  athletic  exercises.  A 
squinting  eye  is  a  treasure  to  a  boxer,  a  left-handed  bat- 
ter is  a  prize  in  a  cricketing  eleven,  and  one  of  the  best 
gymnasts  in  Chicago  is  an  individual  with  a  wooden  leg, 
which  he  takes  off  at  the  commencement  of  affairs,  thus 
economizing  weight  and  stowage,  and  performing  achieve- 
ments impossible  except  to  unipeds. 

In  the  enthusiasm  created  by  this  emulation,  there  is 
necessarily  some  danger  of  excess.  Dr.  Windship  ap- 
proves of  exercising  only  every  other  day  in  the  gymna- 
sium ;  but  as  most  persons  take  their  work  in  a  more 
diluted  form  than  his,  they  can  afford  to  repeat  it  daily, 
unless  warned  by  headache  or  languor  that  they  are  ex- 
ceeding their  allowance.  There  is  no  good  in  excess ; 
our  constitutions  cannot  be  hurried.  The  law  is  univer- 
sal, that  exercise  strengthens  as  long  as  nutrition  balances 
it,  but  afterwards  wastes  the  very  forces  it  should  increase 
"We  cannot  make  bricks  faster  than  Nature  supplies  us 
with  straw. 

It  is  one  good  evidence  of  the  increasing  interest  in 
these  exercises,  that  the  American  gymnasiums  built 
during  the  past  year  or  two  have  far  surpar  ^ed  all  their 


J70  GYMNASTICS. 

predecessors  in  size  and  completeness,  and  have  probably 
no  superiors  in  the  world.  The  Seventh  Regiment  Gvm- 
nasium  in  New  York,  just  opened  by  Mr.  Abner  S. 
Brady,  is  one  hundred  and  eighty  feet  by  fifty-two,  in  its 
main  hall,  and  thirty-five  feet  in  height,  with  nearly  a 
thousand  pupils.  The  beautiful  hall  of  the  Metropolitan 
Gymnasium,  in  Chicago,  measures  one  hundred  and  eight 
feet  by  eighty,  and  is  twenty  feet  high  at  the  sides,  with 
a  dome  in  the  centre,  forty  feet  high,  and  the  same  in 
diameter.  Next  to  these  probably  rank  the  new  gymna- 
sium at  Cincinnati,  the  Tremont  Gymnasium  at  Boston, 
and  the  Bunker  Hill  Gymnasium  at  Charle>town,  all  re- 
cently opened.  Of  college  institutions  the  most  complete 
are  probably  those  at  Cambridge  and  New  Haven,  —  the 
former  being  eighty-five  feet  by  fifty,  and  the  latter  one 
hundred  feet  by  fifty,  in  external  dimensions.  The  ar- 
rangements for  instruction  are  rather  more  systematic  at 
Harvard,  but  Yale  has  several  valuable  articles  of  appa- 
ratus —  as  the  rack-bars  and  the  series  of  rings  —  which 
have  hardly  made  their  appearance,  as  yet,  in  Massa- 
chusetts, though  considered  indispensable  in  New  York 
institutions. 

Gymnastic  exercises  are  as  yet  but  very  sparingly  in  • 
troduced  into  our  seminaries,  primary  or  professional 
though  a  great  change  is  already  beginning.  Until  latel" 
all  our  educational  plans  have  assumed  man  to  be  > 
merely  sedentary  being ;  we  have  employed  teachers  ot 
music  and  drawing  to  go  from  school  to  school  to  teacV 
those  elegant  arts,  but  have  had  none  to  teach  the  an 
of  health.  Accordingly,  the  pupils  have  exhibited  more 
complex  curves  in  their  spines  than  they  could  possibly 
portray  on  the  blackboard,  and  acquired  such  discords 
in  their  nervous  systems  as  would  hare  utterly  disgraced 


GYMNASTICS.  171 

their  singing.  It  is  something  to  have  got  beyond  the 
period  when  active  sports  were  actually  prohibited.  I 
remember  when  thv.re  was  but  one  boat  owned  by  a  Cam- 
bridge student,  and  that  was  soon  reported  to  have 
been  suppressed  by  the  Faculty,  on  the  plea  that  there 
was  a  college  law  against  a  student's  keeping  domestic 
animals,  and  a  boat  was  a  domestic  animal  within  the 
meaning  of  the  statute.  Manual  labor  was  thought  less 
reprehensible ;  but  schools  on  this  basis  have  never  yet 
proved  satisfactory,  because  either  the  hands  or  the  brains 
have  always  come  off  second-best  from  the  effort  to  com- 
bine :  it  is  a  law  of  Nature,  that  after  a  hard  day's  work 
one  does  not  need  more  work,  but  play.  But  in  many  of 
the  German  common  schools  one  or  two  hours  are  given 
daily  to  gymnastic  exercises  with  apparatus,  with  some- 
times the  addition  of  Wednesday  or  Saturday  afternoon  ; 
and  this  was  the  result,  as  appears  from  Gutsmuth's  book, 
of  precisely  the  same  popular  reaction  against  a  purely 
intellectual  system  which  is  visible  in  our  community 
now.  In  the  French  military  school  at  Joinville,  the 
degree  of  Bachelor  of  Agility  is  formally  conferred  ;  but 
Horace  Mann's  remark  still  holds  good,  that  it  is  seldom 
thought  necessary  to  train  men's  bodies  for  any  purpose 
except  to  destroy  those  of  other  men.  However,  in  view 
of  the  present  wise  policy  of  our  leading  colleges,  we 
shall  have  to  stop  croaking  before  long,  especially  as 
enthusiastic  alumni  already  begin  to  fancy  a  visible  im- 
provement in  the  physique  of  graduating  classes  on 
Commencement  Day. 

It  would  be  unpardonable,  in  this  connection,  not  to 
speak  a  good  word  for  the  favorite  hobby  of  the  day,  — 
Dr.  Lewis,  and  his  system  of  gymnastics,  or,  more  prop- 
erly, of  calisthenics.  Dr.  Windship  had  done  all  that  was 


172  GYMNASTICS. 

needed  in  apostleship  of  severe  exercises,  and  there  was 
wanting  some  man  with  a  milder  hobby,  perfectly  safe  for 
a  lady  to  drive.  The  Fates  provided  that  man,  also,  in 
Dr.  Lewis,  —  so  hale  and  hearty,  so  profoundly  confident 
in  the  omnipotence  of  his  own  methods  and  the  uselessness 
of  all  others,  with  such  a  ready  invention,  and  such  an 
inundation  of  animal  spirits  that  he  could  flood  any  com- 
pany, no  matter  how  starched  or  listless,  with  an  un- 
bounded appetite  for  ball-games  and  bean-games.  How 
long  it  will  last  in  the  hands  of  others  than  the  projector 
remains  to  be  seen,  especially  as  some  of  his  feats  are 
more  exhausting  than  average  gymnastics  ;  but,  in  the 
mean  time,  it  is  just  what  is  wanted  for  multitudes  of 
persons  who  find  or  fancy  the  real  gymnasium  to  be 
unsuited  to  them.  It  will  especially  render  service  to 
female  pupils,  so  far  as  they  practise  it ;  for  the  accus- 
tomed gymnastic  exercises  seem  never  yet  to  have  been 
rendered  attractive  to  them,  on  any  large  scale,  and  with 
any  permanency.  Girls,  no  doubt,  learn  as  readily  as 
boys  to  row,  to  skate,  and  to  swim,  —  any  muscular  infe- 
riority being  perhaps  counterbalanced  in  swimming  by 
their  greater  physical  buoyancy,  in  skating  by  their 
dancing-school  experience,  and  in  rowing  by  their  music- 
lessons  enabling  them  more  promptly  to  fall  into  regular 
time,  —  though  these  suggestions  may  all  be  fancies  rather 
than  facts.  The  same  points  help  them,  perhaps,  in  the 
lighter  calisthenic  exercises ;  but  when  they  come  to  the 
apparatus,  one  seldom  sees  a  girl  who  takes  hold  like  a 
boy:  it,  perhaps,  requires  a  certain  ready  capital  of 
muscle,  at  the  outset,  which  they  have  not  at  command, 
and  which  it  is  tedious  to  acquire  afterwards.  Yet  there 
seem  to  be  some  cases,  as  with  the  classes  of  Mrs.  Moli- 
neaux  at  Cambridge,  where  a  good  deal  of  gymnastic 


GYMNASTICS.  173 

enthusiasm  is  created  among  female  pupils,  and  it  may 
be.  after  all,  that  the  deficiency  lies  thus  far  in  the 
teachers. 

Experience  is  already  showing  that  the  advantages  of 
school-gymnasiums  go  deeper  than  was  at  first  supposed. 
It  is  not  to  be  the  whole  object  of  American  education  to 
create  scholars  or  idealists,  but  to  produce  persons  of  a 
solid  strength,  —  persons  who,  to  use  the  most  expressive 
Western  phrase  that  ever  was  coined  into  five  monosyl- 
lables, "  will  do  to  tie  to "  ;  whereas  to  most  of  us  it 
would  be  absurd  to  tie  anything  but  the  Scriptural  mill- 
stone. In  the  military  school  of  Brienne,  the  only  report 
appended  lo  the  name  of  the  little  Napoleon  Bonaparte 
was  "  Very  healthy  "  ;  and  it  is  precisely  his  class  of  boys 
for  whom  there  is  least  place  in  a  purely  intellectual  in- 
stitution. A  child  of  immense  animal  activity  and  unlim- 
ited observing  faculties,  personally  acquainted  with  every 
man,  child,  horse,  dog,  in  the  township,  —  intimate  in  the 
families  of  oriole  and  grasshopper,  pickerel  and  turtle,  — 
quick  of  hand  and  eye,  —  in  short,  born  for  practical 
leadership  and  victory,  —  such  a  boy  finds  no  provision 
for  him  in  most  of  our  seminaries,  and  must,  by  his  con- 
stitution, be  either  truant  or  torment.  The  theory  of  the 
institution  ignores  such  aptitudes  as  his,  and  recognizes 
no  merits  save  those  of  some  small  sedentary  linguist  or 
mathematician,  —  a  blessing  to  his  teacher,  but  an  object 
of  watchful  anxiety  to  the  family  physician,  and  whose 
career  is  endangering  not  only  his  health,  but  his  humil- 
ity. Introduce  now  some  athletic  exercises  as  a  regular 
part  of  the  school-drill,  instantly  the  rogue  finds  his  legit- 
imate sphere,  and  leads  the  class ;  he  is  no  longer  an 
outcast,  no  longer  has  to  look  beyond  the  school  for  com- 
panions and  appreciation ;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  the 


174  GYMNASTICS. 

youthful  pedant,  no  longer  monopolizing  superiority,  Is 
brought  down  to  a  proper  level.  Presently  comes  along 
some  finer  fellow  than  either,  who  cultivates  all  his  facul- 
ties, and  is  equally  good  at  spring-board  and  blackboard  ; 
and  straightway,  since  every  child  wishes  to  be  a  Crich- 
ton,  the  whole  school  tries  for  the  combination  of  merits, 
and  the  grade  of  the  juvenile  community  is  perceptibly 
raised. 

What  is  true  of  childhood  is  true  of  manhood  also. 
What  a  shame  it  is  that  even  Kingsley  should  fall  into 
the  cant  of  deploring  maturity  as  a  misfortune,  and  de- 
claring that  our  freshest  pleasures  come  "  before  the  age 
of  fourteen  "  !  Health  is  perpetual  youth,  —  that  is,  a 
state  of  positive  health.  Merely  negative  health,  the 
mere  keeping  out  of  the  hospital  for  a  series  of  yeai's,  is 
not  health.  Health  is  to  feel  the  body  a  luxury,  as  every 
vigorous  child  does,  —  as  the  bird  does  when  it  shoots 
and  quivers  through  the  air,  not  flying  for  the  sake  of  the 
goal,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  flight,  —  as  the  dog  does 
when  he  scours  madly  across  the  meadow,  or  plunges  into 
the  muddy  blissfulness  of  the  stream.  But  neither  dog 
nor  bird  nor  child  enjoys  his  cup  of  physical  happiness  — 
let  the  dull  or  the  worldly  say  what  they  will  —  with  a 
felicity  so  cordial  as  the  educated  palate  of  conscious 
manhood.  To  "  feel  one's  life  in  every  limb,"  this  is  the 
secret  bliss  of  which  all  forms  of  athletic  exercise  are 
merely  varying  disguises ;  and  it  is  absurd  to  say  that  we 
cannot  possess  this  when  character  is  mature,  but  only 
when  it  is  half  developed.  As  the  flower  is  better  than 
the  bud,  so  should  the  fruit  be  better  than  the  flower. 

We  need  more  examples  of  a  mode  of  living  which 
shall  not  alone  be  a  success  in  view  of  some  ulterior  ob- 
ject, but  which  shall  be,  in  its  nobleness^and  healthfulness. 


GYMNASTICS.  175 

successful  every  moment  as  it  passes  on.  Navigating 
a  wholly  new  temperament  through  history,  this  Amer- 
ican race  must  of  course  form  its  own  methods  and  take 
nothing  at  second-hand ;  but  the  same  triumphant  combi- 
nation of  bodily  and  mental  training  which  made  human 
life  beautiful  in  Greece,  strong  in  Rome,  simple  and  joy- 
ous in  Germany,  truthful  and  brave  in  England,  must  yet 
be  moulded  to  a  higher  quality  amid  this  varying  climate 
and  on  these  low  shores.  The  regions  of  the  world  most 
garlanded  with  glory  and  romance,  Attica,  Provence, 
Scotland,  were  originally  more  barren  than  Massachu- 
setts ;  and  there  is  yet  possible  for  us  such  an  harmonious 
mingling  of  refinement  and  vigor,  that  we  may  more  than 
fulfil  the  world's  expectation,  and  may  become  classic  to 
ourselves 


A    NEW    COUNTERBLAST. 


A  NEW  COUNTERBLAST. 


"  He  that  taketh  tobacco  saith  he  cannot  leave  it,  it  doth  bewitch 
him."  —  KING  JAMES'S  Counterblast  to  Tobacco. 


AMERICA  is  especially  responsible  to  the  whole 
world  for  tobacco,  since  the  two  are  twin-sisters, 
born  to  the  globe  in  a  day.  The  sailors  first  sent  on 
shore  by  Columbus  came  back  with  news  of  a  new  con- 
tinent and  a  new  condiment.  There  was  solid  land,  and 
there  was  a  novel  perfume,  which  rolled  in  clouds  from 
the  lips  of  the  natives.  The  fame  of  the  two  great  dis- 
coveries instantly  began  to  overspread  the  world ;  but  the 
smoke  travelled  fastest,  as  is  its  nature.  There  are  many 
races  which  have  not  yet  heard  of  America:  there  are 
very  few  which  have  not  yet  tasted  of  tobacco.  A  plant 
which  was  originally  the  amusement  of  a  few  savage  tribes 
has  become  hi  a  few  centuries  the  fancied  necessary  of  life 
to  the  most  enlightened  nations  of  the  earth,  and  it  is 
probable  that  there  is  nothing  cultivated  by  man  which  is 
now  so  universally  employed. 

And  the  plant  owes  this  width  of  celebrity  to  a  combi- 
nation of  natural  qualities  so  remarkable  as  to  yield  great 
diversities  of  good  and  evil  fame.  It  was  first  heralded 
as  a  medical  panacea,  "  the  most  sovereign  and  precious 
weed  that  ever  the  earth  tendered  to  the  use  of  man," 
and  was  seldom  mentioned,  in  the  sixteenth  century, 


180  A  NEW  COUNTERBLAST. 

without  some  reverential  epithet.  It  was  a  plant  divine, 
a  canonized  vegetable.  Each  nation  had  its  own  pious 
name  to  bestow  upon  it  The  French  called  it  herbs 
sainte,  herbe  sacree,  herbe  propre  a  tous  maux,  panacee 
antarctigue,  —  the  Italians,  herba  santa  croce,  —  the 
Germans,  hettig  wundkraut.  Botanists  soberly  classified 
it  as  herba  panacea  and  herba  sancta,  and  Gerard  hi  his 
u  Herbal "  fixed  its  name  finally  as  sana  sancta  Indorum, 
by  which  title  it  commonly  appears  in  the  professional 
recipe^  of  the  time.  Spenser,  in  his  "  Faerie  Queene," 
bids  the  lovely  Belphoebe  gather  it  as  u  divine  tobacco," 
and  Lilly  the  Euphuist  calls  it  "  our  holy  herb  Nicotian," 
ranking  it  between  violets  and  honey.  It  was  cultivated 
in  France  for  medicinal  purposes  solely,  for  hah0  a  cen- 
tury before  any  one  there  used  it  for  pleasure,  and  till 
within  the  last  hundred  years  it  was  familiarly  prescribed, 
all  over  Europe,  for  asthma,  gout,  catarrh,  consumption, 
headache ;  and.  in  short,  was  credited  with  curing  more 
diseases  than  even  the  eighty-seven  which  Dr.  Shew  now 
charges  it  with  producing. 

So  vast  were  the  results  of  all  this  sanitary  enthusiasm, 
that  the  use  of  tobacco  in  Europe  probably  reached  its 
climax  in  a  century  or  two,  and  has  since  rather  dimin- 
ished than  increased,  in  proportion  to  the  population.  It 
probably  appeared  in  England  in  1586,  being  first  used 
in  the  Indian  fashion,  by  handing  one  pipe  from  man  to 
man  throughout  the  company  ;  the  medium  of  communi- 
cation being  a  silver  tube  for  the  higher  classes,  and  a 
straw  and  walnut-shell  for  the  baser  sort.  Paul  Hentz- 
ner,  who  travelled  in  England  in  1598,  and  Monsieur 
Misson,  who  wrote  precisely  a  century  later,  note  almost 
in  the  same  words  "a  perpetual  use  of  tobacco";  and 
the  latter  suspects  that  this  is  what  makes  "  the  generality 


A  NEW  COUNTERBLAST.  181 

of  Englishmen  so  taciturn,  so  thoughtful,  and  so  mel- 
ancholy." In  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  the  ladies  of  the 
court  "  would  not  scruple  to  blow  a  pipe  together  very 
socially."  In  1614  it  was  asserted  that  tobacco  was  sold 
openly  in  more  than  seven  thousand  places  in  London, 
some  of  these  being  already  attended  by  that  patient  In- 
dian who  still  stands  seductive  at  tobacconists'  doors.  It 
was  also  estimated  that  the  annual  receipts  of  these  estab- 
lishments amounted  to  more  than  three  hundred  thousand 
pounds.  Elegant  ladies  had  their  pictures  painted,  at 
least  one  in  1650  did,  with  pipe  and  box  in  hand.  Roche- 
fort,  a  rather  apocryphal  French  traveller  in  1672,  re- 
ported it  to  be  the  general  custom  in  English  homes  to 
set  pipes  on  the  table  in  the  evening  for  the  females  as 
well  as  males  of  the  family,  and  to  provide  children's 
luncheon-baskets  with  a  well-filled  pipe,  to  be  smoked  at 
school,  under  the  directing  eye  of  the  master.  In  1703, 
Lawrence  Spooner  wrote  that  "  the  sin  of  the  kingdom 
in  the  intemperate  use  of  tobacco  swelleth  and  increaseth 
so  daily,  that  I  can  compare  it  to  nothing  but  the  waters 
of  Noah,  that  swelled  fifteen  cubits  above  the  highest 
mountains."  The  deluge  reached  its  height  in  England 
—  so  thinks  the  amusing  and  indefatigable  Mr.  Fairholt, 
author  of  "  Tobacco  and  its  Associations  "  —  in  the  reign 
of  Queen  Anne.  Steele,  in  the  "  Spectator,"  (1711,) 
describes  the  snuff-box  as  a  rival  to  the  fan  among  la- 
dies ;  and  Goldsmith  pictures  the  belles  at  Bath  as  enter- 
ing the  water  in  full  bathing  costume,  each  provided  with 
a  small  floating  basket,  to  hold  a  snuff-box,  a  kerchief, 
and  a  nosegay.  And  finally,  in  1797,  Dr.  Clarke  com- 
plains of  the  handing  about  of  the  snuff-box  in  churches 
during  worship,  "  to  the  great  scandal  of  religious  peo- 
ple," —  adding,  that  kneeling  in  prayer  was  prevented  by 


182  A   NEW  COUNTERBLAST. 

the  large  quantity  of  saliva  ejected  in  all  directions.  In 
view  of  such  formidable  statements  as  these,  it  is  hardly 
possible  to  believe  that  the  present  generation  surpasses 
or  even  equals  the  past  in  the  consumption  of  tobacco. 

And  all  this  sudden  popularity  was  in  spite  of  a  vast 
persecution  which  sought  to  unite  all  Europe  against  this 
indulgence,  in  the  seventeenth  century.  In  Russia,  its 
use  was  punishable  with  amputation  of  the  nose;  in 
Berne,  it  ranked  next  to  adultery  among  offences  ;  San- 
dys, the  traveller,  saw  a  Turk  led  through  the  streets  of 
Constantinople  mounted  backward  on  an  ass  with  a  to- 
bacco-pipe thrust  through  his  nose.  Pope  Urban  VIII., 
in  1624,  excommunicated  those  who  should  use  it  in 
churches,  and  Innocent  XII.,  in  1690,  echoed  the  same 
anathema.  Yet  within  a  few  years  afterwards  travellers 
reported  that  same  free  use  of  snuff  in  Romish  worship 
which  still  astonishes  spectators.  To  see  a  priest,  during 
the  momentous  ceremonial  of  High  Mass,  enliven  the 
occasion  by  a  voluptuous  pinch,  is  a  sight  even  more  as- 
tonishing, though  perhaps  less  disagreeable,  than  the  well- 
used  spittoon  which  decorates  so  many  Protestant  pulpits. 

But  the  Protestant  pulpits  did  their  full  share  in  fight- 
ing the  habit,  for  a  time  at  least.  Among  the  Puritans, 
no  man  could  use  tobacco  publicly,  on  penalty  of  a  fine 
of  two  and  sixpence,  or  in  a  private  dwelling,  if  strangers 
were  present ;  and  no  two  could  use  it  together.  That 
iron  pipe  of  Miles  Standish,  still  preserved  at  Plymouth, 
must  have  been  smoked  in  solitude,  or  not  at  all.  This 
strictness  was  gradually  relaxed,  however,  as  the  clergy 
took  up  the  habit  of  smoking ;  and  I  have  seen  an  old 
painting,  on  the  panels  of  an  ancient  parsonage  in  New- 
buryport,  representing  a  jovial  circle  of  portly  divines 
sitting  pipe  in  hand  around  a  table,  with  the  Latin  motto, 


A   NEW  COUNTERBLAST.  183 

u  In  essentials  unity,  in  non-essentials  liberty,  in  all  things 
charity."  Apparently  the  tobacco  was  one  of  the  essen- 
tials, since  there  was  unity  respecting  that.  Further- 
more, Captain  Underbill,  hero  of  the  Pequot  War,  boasted 
to  the  saints  of  having  received  his  assurance  of  salvation 
"  while  enjoying  a  pipe  of  that  good  creature,  tobacco," 
"  since  when  he  had  never  doubted  it,  though  he  should 
fall  into  sin."  But  it  is  melancholy  to  relate  that  this 
fall  did  presently  take  place,  in  a  very  flagrant  manner, 
and  brought  discredit  upon  tobacco  conversions,  as  being 
liable  to  end  in  smoke. 

Indeed,  some  of  the  most  royal  wills  that  ever  lived  in 
the  world  have  measured  themselves  against  the  tobacco- 
plant  and  been  defeated.  Charles  I.  attempted  to  banish 
it,  and  in  return  the  soldiers  of  Cromwell  puffed  their 
smoke  contemptuously  in  his  face,  as  he  sat  a  prisoner  in 
the  guard-chamber.  Cromwell  himself  undertook  it,  and 
Evelyn  says  that  the  troopers  smoked  in  triumph  at  his 
funeral.  Wellington  tried  it,  and  the  artists  caricatured 
him  on  a  pipe's  head  with  a  soldier  behind  him  defying 
with  a  whiff  that  imperial  nose.  Louis  Napoleon  is  said 
to  be  now  attempting  it,  and  probably  finds  his  subjects 
more  ready  to  surrender  the  freedom  of  the  press  than 
of  the  pipe. 

The  more  recent  efforts  against  tobacco,  like  most 
arguments  in  which  morals  and  physiology  are  mingled, 
have  lost  much  of  their  effect  through  exaggeration.  On 
both  sides  there  has  been  enlisted  much  loose  statement, 
with  some  bad  logic.  It  is,  for  instance,  unreasonable  to 
hold  up  the  tobacco-plant  to  general  indignation  because 
Linnaeus  classed  it  with  the  natural  order  Luridce,  — 
since  he  attributed  the  luridness  only  to  the  color  of  those 
plants,  not  to  their  character.  It  is  absurd  to  denounce 


184  .4  NEW  COUNTERBLAST. 

it  as  belonging  to  the  poisonous  nightshade  tribe,  when 
the  potato  and  the  tomato  also  appertain  to  that  perilous 
domestic  circle.  It  is  hardly  fair  even  to  complain  of  it 
for  yielding  a  poisonous  oil,  when  these  two  virtuous 
plants  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  peach  and  the  almond  — 
will,junder  sufficient  chemical  provocation,  do  the  same 
thing.  Two  drops  of  nicotine  will,  indeed,  kill  a  rabbit ; 
but  so,  it  is  said,  will  two  drops  of  solanine.  Great  are 
the  resources  of  chemistry,  and  a  well-regulated  scientific 
mind  can  detect  something  deadly  almost  anywhere. 

Nor  is  it  safe  to  assume,  as  many  do,  that  tobacco  pre- 
disposes very  powerfully  to  more  dangerous  dissipations. 
The  non-smoking  Saxons  were  probably  far  more  intem- 
perate in  drinking  than  the  modern  English ;  and  Lane, 
the  best  authority,  points  out  that  wine  is  now  far  less 
used  by  the  Orientals  than  at  the  time  of  the  "  Arabian 
Nights,"  when  tobacco  had  not  been  introduced.  And  in 
respect  to  yet  more  perilous  sensual  excesses,  tobacco  is 
now  admitted,  both  by  friends  and  foes,  to  be  quite  as 
much  a  sedative  as  a  stimulant. 

The  point  of  objection  on  the  ground  of  inordinate  ex- 
pense is  doubtless  better  taken,  and  can  be  met  only  by 
Substantial  proof  that  the  enormous  outlay  is  a  wise  one. 
Tobacco  may  be  "  the  anodyne  of  poverty,"  as  somebody 
has  said,  but  it  certainly  promotes  poverty.  This  narcotic 
lulls  to  sleep  all  pecuniary  economy.  Every  pipe  may 
not,  indeed,  cost  so  much  as  that  jewelled  one  seen  by 
Dihdin  in  Vienna,  which  was  valued  at  a  thousand 
pounds ;  or  even  as  the  German  meerschaum  which  was 
passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  through  a  whole  regiment 
of  soldiers  till  it  was  colored  to  perfection,  having  never 
been  allowed  to  cool,  —  a  bill  of  one  hundred  pounds  be- 
ing ultimately  rendered  for  the  tobacco  consumed.  But 


yr  NEW  COUNTERBLAST.  185 

how  heedlessly  men  squander  money  on  this  pet  luxury ! 
By  the  report  of  the  English  University  Commissioners, 
some  ten  years  ago,  a  student's  annual  tobacco-bill  often 
amounts  to  forty  pounds.  Dr.  Solly  puts  thirty  pounds 
as  the  lowest  annual  expenditure  of  an  English  smoker, 
and  knows  many  who  spend  one  hundred  and  twenty 
pounds,  and  one  three  hundred  pounds  a  year,  on  tooacco 
alone.  In  this  country  the  facts  are  hard  to  obtain,  but 
many  a  man  smokes  twelve  four-cent  cigars  a  day,  and 
many  a  man  four  twelve-cent  cigars,  —  spending  in  either 
case  about  half  a  dollar  a  day  and  not  far  from  two  hun- 
dred dollars  per  annum.  An  industrious  mechanic  earns 
his  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  a  day,  or  a  clerk  his  eight 
hundred  dollars  a  year,  spends  a  quarter  of  it  on  tobacco, 
and  the  rest  on  his  wife,  children,  and  miscellaneous  ex- 
penses. 

But  the  impotency  which  marks  some  of  the  stock  ar- 
guments against  tobacco  extends  to  most  of  those  in  favor 
of  it.  My  friend  assures  me  that  every  one  needs  some 
narcotic,  that  the  American  brain  is  too  active,  and  that 
the  influence  of  tobacco  is  quieting,  —  great  is  the  enjoy- 
ment of  a  comfortable  pipe  after  dinner.  I  grant,  on 
observing  him  at  that  period,  that  it  appears  so.  But  I 
also  observe,  that,  when  the  placid  hour  has  passed  away, 
his  nervous  system  is  more  susceptible,  his  hand  more 
tremulous,  his  temper  more  irritable  on  slight  occasions, 
than  during  the  days  when  the  comfortable  pipe  chances 
to  be  omitted.  The  only  effect  of  the  narcotic  appears, 
therefore,  to  be  a  demand  for  another  narcotic ;  and  there 
seems  no  decided  advantage  over  the  life  of  the  birds  and 
bees,  who  appear  to  keep  their  nervous  systems  in  toler 
ably  healthy  condition  with  no  narcotic  at  all. 

The  argument  drawn  from  a  comparison  of  races  is  no 


186  A   NEW  COUNTERBLAST. 

better.  Germans  are  vigorous  and  Turks  aore  long -li veil, 
and  they  are  all  great  smokers.  But  certainly  the  Ger- 
mans do  not  appear  so  vivacious,  nor  the  Turks  so  ener- 
getic, as  to  afford  triumphant  demonstrations  in  behalf  of 
the  sacred  weed.  Moreover,  the  Eastern  tobacco  is  as 
much  milder  than  ours,  as  are  the  Continental  wines  than 
even  those  semi-alcoholic  mixtures  which  prevail  at  scru- 
pulous communion-tables.  And  as  for  German  health, 
Dr.  Schneider  declares,  in  the  London  "  Lancet/'  that  it 
is  because  of  smoke  that  all  his  educated  countrymen 
wear  spectacles,  that  an  immense  amount  of  consumption 
is  produced  in  Germany  by  tobacco,  and  that  English 
insurance  companies  are  proverbially  cautious  in  insuring 
German  lives.  Dr.  Carlyon  gives  much  the  same  as  his 
observation  in  Holland.  These  facts  may  be  overstated, 
but  they  are  at  least  as  good  as  those  which  they  answer. 
Not  much  better  is  the  excuse  alleged  in  the  social  and 
genial  influences  of  tobacco.  It  certainly  seems  a  singu- 
lar way  of  opening  the  lips  for  conversation  by  closing 
them  on  a  pipe-stem,  and  it  would  rather  appear  as  if 
Fate  designed  to  gag  the  smokers  and  let  the  non-smokers 
talk.  But  supposing  it  otherwise,  does  it  not  mark  a 
condition  of  extreme  juvenility  in  our  social  development, 
if  no  resources  of  intellect  can  enable  a  half-dozen  intel- 
ligent men  to  be  agreeable  to  each  other,  without  apply- 
ing the  forcing  process,  by  turning  the  room  into  an 
imperfectly  organized  chimney  ?  Brilliant  women  can  be 
brilliant  without  either  wine  or  tobacco,  and  Napoleon 
always  maintained  that  without  an  admixture  of  feminine 
wit  conversation  grew  tame.  Are  all  male  beings  so 
much  stupider  by  nature  than  the  other  sex,  that  men  re- 
quire stimulants  and  narcotics  to  make  them  mutually 
endurable  ? 


A   NEW  COUNTERBLAST.  181 

And  as  the  conversational  superiorities  of  woman  dis- 
prove the  supposed  social  inspirations  of  tobacco,  so  do 
her  more  refined  perceptions  yet  more  emphatically  pro- 
nounce its  doom.  Though  belles  of  the  less  mature 
description,  eulogistic  of  sophomores,  may  stoutly  profess 
that  they  dote  on  the  Virginian  perfume,  yet  cultivated 
womanhood  barely  tolerates  the  choicest  tobacco-smoke, 
even  in  its  freshness,  and  utterly  recoils  from  the  stale 
suggestions  of  yesterday.  By  whatever  enthusiasm  mis- 
led, she  finds  something  abhorrent  in  the  very  nature 
of  the  thing.  In  vain  did  loyal  Frenchmen  baptize  the 
weed  as  the  queen's  own  favorite,  Herba  Catherines  Me- 
diccB  ;  it  is  easier  to  admit  that  Catherine  de'  Medici  was 
not  feminine  than  that  tobacco  is.  Man  also  recognizes 
the  antagonism  ;  there  is  scarcely  a  husband  in  America 
who  would  not  be  converted  from  smoking,  if  his  wife 
resolutely  demanded  her  right  of  moiety  in  the  cigar-box. 
No  Lady  Mary,  no  loveliest  Marquise,  could  make  snuff- 
taking  beauty  otherwise  than  repugnant  to  this  genera- 
tion. Rustic  females  who  habitually  chew  even  pitch  or 
spruce-gum  are  rendered  thereby  so  repulsive  that  the 
fancy  refuses  to  pursue  the  horror  farther  and  imagine  it 
tobacco ;  and  all  the  charms  of  the  veil  and  the  fan  can 
scarcely  reconcile  the  most  fumacious  American  to  the 
cigarrito  of  the  Spanish  fair.  How  strange  seems  Par- 
ton's  picv.ure  of  General  Jackson  puffing  his  long  clay 
pipe  on  one  side  of  the  fireplace  and  Mrs.  Jackson  puffing 
hers  on  the  other !  No  doubt,  to  the  heart  of  the  chival- 
rous backwoodsman  those  smoke-dried  lips  were  yet  the 
altar  of  early  passion,  —  as  that  rather  ungrammatical 
tongue  was  still  the  music  of  the  spheres ;  but  the  unat- 
tractiveness  of  that  conjugal  counterblast  is  Nature's  own 
protest  against  smoking. 


188  A   NEW  COUNTERBLAST. 

The  use  of  tobacco  must,  therefore,  be  held  to  mark 
a  rather  coarse  and  childish  epoch  in  our  civilization,  if 
nothing  worse.  Its  most  ardent  admirer  hardly  paints  it 
into  his  picture  of  the  Golden  Age.  It  is  difficult  to  asso- 
ciate it  with  one's  fancies  of  the  noblest  manhood,  and 
Miss  Muloch  reasonably  defies  the  human  imagination  to 
portray  Shakespeare  or  Dante  with  pipe  in  mouth.  Goethe 
detested  it ;  so  did  Napoleon,  save  in  the  form  of  snuff, 
which  he  apparently  used  on  Talleyrand's  principle,  that 
diplomacy  was  impossible  without  it.  Bacon  said,  "  To- 
bacco-smoking is  a  secret  delight,  serving  only  to  steal 
away  men's  brains."  Newton  abstained  from  it :  the 
contrary  is  often  claimed,  but  thus  says  his  biographer, 
Brewster,  —  saying  that  "  he  would  make  no  necessities 
to  himself."  Franklin  says  he  never  used  it,  and  never 
met  with  one  of  its  votaries  who  advised  him  to  follow 
the  example.  John  Quincy  Adams  used  it  in  early  youth, 
and  after  thirty  years  of  abstinence  said,  that,  if  every 
one  would  try  abstinence  for  three  months,  it  would  anni- 
hilate the  practice,  and  add  five  years  to  the  average 
length  of  human  life. 

In  attempting  to  go  beyond  these  general  charges  of 
waste  and  foolishness,  and  to  examine  the  physiological 
results  of  the  use  of  tobacco,  one  is  met  by  the  contradic- 
tions and  perplexities  which  haunt  all  such  inquiries. 
Doctors,  of  course,  disagree,  and  the  special  cases  cited 
triumphantly  by  either  side  are  ruled  out  as  exceptional 
by  the  other.  It  is  like  the  question  of  the  precise  de- 
gree of  injury  done  by  alcoholic  drinks.  To-day's  news- 
paper writes  the  eulogy  of  A.  B.,  who  recently  died  at 
the  age  of  ninety-nine,  without  ever  tasting  ardent  spirits; 
to-morrow's  will  add  the  epitaph  of  C.  D.,  aged  one  hun- 
dred, who  has  imbibed  a  quart  of  rum  a  day  since  reach- 


A   NEW  COUNTERBLAST.  189 

ing  the  age  of  indiscretion ;  and  yet,  after  all,  both  editors 
have  to  admit  that  the  drinking  usages  of  society  are 
growing  decidedly  more  decent  It  is  the  same  with  the 
tobacco  argument.  Individual  cases  prove  nothing  either 
way ;  there  is  such  a  range  of  vital  vigor  in  different 
individual?,  that  one  may  withstand  a  life  of  error,  and 
another  perish  in  spite  of  prudence.  The  question  is  of 
the  general  tendency.  It  is  not  enough  to  know  that  Dr. 
Parr  smoked  twenty  pipes  in  an  evening,  and  lived  to  be 
seventy-eight ;  that  Thomas  Hobbes  smoked  thirteen,  and 
survived  to  ninety-two ;  that  Brissiac  of  Trieste  died  at 
one  hundred  and  sixteen,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth  ;  and 
that  Henry  Hartz  of  Schleswig  used  tobacco  steadily 
from  the  age  of  sixteen  to  one  hundred  and  forty-two ; 
nor  would  any  accumulation  of  such  healthy  old  sinners 
prove  anything  satisfactory.  It  seems  rather  overwhelm- 
ing, to  be  sure,  when  Mr.  Fairholt  assures  us  that  his 
respected  father  "  died  at  the  age  of  seventy-two :  he 
had  been  twelve  hours  a  day  in  a  tobacco-manufactory 
for  nearly  fifty  years ;  and  he  both  smoked  and  chewed 
while  busy  in  the  labors  of  the  workshop,  sometimes  in  a 
dense  cloud  of  steam  from  drying  the  damp  tobacco  over 
the  stoves ;  and  his  health  and  appetite  were  perfect  to 
the  day  of  his  death :  he  was  a  model  of  muscular  and 
stomachic  energy ;  in  which  his  son,  who  neither  smokes, 
snuffs,  nor  chews,  by  no  means  rivals  him."  But  until 
we  know  precisely  what  capital  of  health  the  venerable 
tobacconist  inherited  from  his  fathers,  and  in  what  condi- 
tion he  transmitted  it  to  his  sons,  the  statement  certainly 
has  two  edges. 

For  there  are  facts  equally  notorious  on  the  other  sideu 
It  is  not  denied  that  it  is  found  necessary  to  exclude  to- 
bacco, as  a  general  rule,  from  insane  asylums,  or  that  it 


190  A  NEW  COUNTERBLAST. 

produces,  in  extreme  cases,  among  perfectly  sober  per 
sons,  effects  akin  to  delirium  tremens.  Nor  is  it  denied 
that  terrible  local  diseases  follow  it,  —  as,  for  instance, 
cancer  of  the  mouth,  which  has  become,  according  to  the 
eminent  surgeon.  Brouisson,  the  disease  most  dreaded  in 
the  French  hospitals.  He  has  performed  sixty-eight  op- 
erations for  this,  within  fourteen  years,  in  the  Hospital 
St.  Eloi,  and  traces  it  entirely  to  the  use  of  tobacco. 
Such  facts  are  chiefly  valuable  as  showing  the  tendency 
of  the  thing.  Where  the  evils  of  excess  are  so  glaring, 
the  advantages  of  even  moderate  use  are  questionable. 
Where  weak  persons  are  made  insane,  there  is  room  for 
suspicion  that  the  strong  may  suffer  unconsciously.  You 
may  say  that  the  victim*  must  have  been  constitutionally 
nervous ;  but  where  is  the  native-born  American  who  13 
not? 

In  France  and  England  the  recent  inquiries  into  the 
effects  of  tobacco  seem  to  have  been  a  little  more  syste- 
matic than  our  own.  In  the  former  country,  the  newspa- 
pers state,  the  attention  of  the  Emperor  was  called  to  the 
fact  that  those  pupils  of  the  Polytechnic  School  who  used 
this  indulgence  were  decidedly  inferior  in  average  attain- 
ments to  the  rest.  This  is  stated  to  have  led  to  its  prohi- 
bition in  the  school,  and  to  the  forming  of  an  anti-tobacco 
organization,  which  is  said  to  be  making  great  progress 
in  France.  I  cannot,  however,  obtain  from  any  of  our 
medical  libraries  any  satisfactory  information  as  to  the 
French  agitation,  and  am  led  by  private  advices  to  believe 
that  even  these  general  statements  are  hardly  trustworthy. 
The  recent  English  discussions  are,  however,  more  easy 
of  access. 

"  The  Great  Tobacco  Question,"  as  the  controversy  in 
England  was  called,  originated  in  a  Clinical  Lecture  OP 


A  NEW  COUNTERBLAST.  191 

Paralysis,  by  Mr.  Solly,  Surgeon  of  St.  Thomas's  Hos- 
pital, which  was  published  in  the  "Lancet,"  December 
13,  1856.  He  incidentally  spoke  of  tobacco  as  an  im- 
portant source  of  this  disease,  and  went  on  to  say :  "  I 
know  of  no  single  vice  which  does  so  much  harm  as 
smoking.  It  is  a  snare  and  a  delusion.  It  soothes  the 
excited  nervous  system  at  the  time,  to  render  it  more  irri- 
table and  feeble  ultimately.  It  is  like  opium  in  this  re- 
spect ;  and  if  you  want  to  know  all  the  wretchedness 
which  this  drug  can  produce,  you  should  read  the  '  Con- 
fessions of  an  English  Opium-Eater.' "  This  statement 
was  presently  echoed  by  J.  Ranald  Martin,  an  eminent 
surgeon,  "  whose  Eastern  experience  rendered  his  opin- 
ion of  immense  value,"  and  who  used  language  almost 
identical  with  that  of  Mr.  Solly :  —  "I  can  state  of  my 
own  observation,  that  the  miseries,  mental  and  bodily, 
which  I  have  witnessed  from  the  abuse  of  cigar-smoking, 
far  exceed  anything  detailed  in  the  '  Confessions  of  an 
Opium-Eater.' " 

This  led  off  a  controversy,  which  continued  for  several 
months,  in  the  columns  of  the  "  Lancet,*"  —  a  controversy 
conducted  in  a  wonderfully  good-natured  spirit,  consider- 
ing that  more  than  fifty  physicians  took  part  in  it,  and 
that  these  were  almost  equally  divided.  The  debate  took 
a  wide  range,  and  some  interesting  facts  were  elicited : 
as  that  Lord  Raglan,  General  Markham,  and  Admirals 
Dundas  and  Napier  always  abandoned  tobacco  from  the 
moment  when  they  were  ordered  on  actual  service  ;  that 
nine  tenths  of  the  first-class  men  at  the  Universities  were 
non-smokers ;  that  two  Indian  chiefs  told  Power,  the 
actor,  that  "  those  Indians  who  smoked  gave  out  soonest 
in  the  chase  " ;  and  so  on.  There  were  also  American 
examples,  rather  loosely  gathered :  thus,  a  remark  of  the 


192  A    NEW  COUNTERBLAS1. 

venerable  Dr.  Waterhouse,  made  many  years  ago,  was 
cited  as  the  contemporary  opinion  of  "  the  Medical  Pro- 
fessor in  Harvard  University  "  ;  also  it  was  mentioned,  as 
an  acknowledged  fact,  that  the  American  physique  was 
rapidly  deteriorating  because  of  tobacco,  and  that  coro- 
ners' verdicts  were  constantly  being  thus  pronounced  on 
American  youths:  "Died  of  excessive  smoking."  On 
the  other  hand,  that  eminent  citizen  of  our  Union,  Gen- 
eral Thomas  Thumb,  was  about  that  time  professionally 
examined  in  London,  and  his  verdict  on  tobacco  was 
quoted  to  be,  that  it  was  "  one  of  his  chief  comforts  " ; 
also  mention  was  made  of  a  hapless  quack  who  an- 
nounced himself  as  coming  from  Boston,  and  who,  to 
keep  up  the  Yankee  reputation,  issued  a  combined  adver- 
tisement of  "  medical  advice  gratis  "  and  "  prime  cigars.'' 
But  these  stray  American  instances  were  of  course 
quite  outnumbered  by  the  English,  and  there  is  scarcely 
an  ill  which  was  not  in  this  controversy  charged  upon 
tobacco  by  its  enemies,  nor  a  physical  or  moral  benefit 
which  was  not  claimed  for  it  by  its  friends.  According 
to  these,  it  prevents  dissension  and  dyspnoea,  inflammation 
and  insanity,  saves  the  waste  of  tissue  and  of  time,  blunts 
the  edge  of  grief,  and  lightens  pain.  "  No  man  was  ever 
in  a  passion  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth."  There  are  more 
female  lunatics  chiefly  because  the  fumigatory  education 
of  the  fair  sex  has  been  neglected.  Yet  it  is  important 
to  notice  that  these  same  advocates  almost  outdo  its  oppo- 
nents in  admitting  its  liability  to  misuse,  and  the  perilous 
consequences.  "  The  injurious  effects  of  excessive  smok- 
ing," —  "  there  is  no  more  pitiable  object  than  the  invet- 
erate smoker,"  —  "  sedentary  life  is  incompatible  with 
smoking,"  —  highly  pernicious,  —  general  debility,  — 
secretions  all  wrong,  —  cerebral  softening.  —  partial  pa- 


A   NEW  COUNTERBLAST.  193 

ralysis,  —  trembling  of  the  hand,  —  enervation  and  de- 
pression, —  great  irritability,  —  neuralgia,  —  narcotism  of 
the  heart :  this  Chamber  of  Horrors  forms  a  part  of  the 
very  Temple  of  Tobacco,  as  builded,  not  by  foes,  but  by 
worshippers.  "  All  men  of  observation  and  experience," 
they  admit,  "  must  be  able  to  point  to  instances  of  disease 
and  derangement  from  the  abuse  of  this  luxury."  Yet 
they  advocate  it,  as  the  same  men  advocate  intoxicating 
drinks  ;  not  meeting  the  question,  in  either  case,  whether 
it  be  wise,  or  even  generous,  for  the  strong  to  continue  an 
indulgence  which  is  thus  confessedly  ruinous  to  the  weak. 
The  controversy  had  its  course,  and  ended,  like  most 
controversies,  without  establishing  anything.  The  editor 
of  the  "  Lancet,"  to  be  sure,  summed  up  the  evidence 
very  fairly,  and  it  is  worth  while  to  quote  him  :  "  It  is 
almost  unnecessary  to  make  a  separate  inquiry  into  the 
pathological  conditions  which  follow  upon  excessive  smok- 
ing. Abundant  evidence  has  been  adduced  of  the  gigan- 
tic evils  which  attend  the  abuse  of  tobacco.  Let  it  be 
granted  at  once  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  moderate 
smoking,  and  let  it  be  admitted  that  we  cannot  accuse  to- 
bacco of  being  guilty  of  the  whole  of  Cullen's  '  Nosolo- 
gy';  it  still  remains  that  there  is  a  long  catalogue  of 
frightful  penalties  attached  to  its  abuse."  He  then  pro- 
ceeds to  consider  what  is  to  be  called  abuse :  as,  for 
instance,  smoking  more  than  one  or  two  cigars  or  pipes 
daily,  —  smoking  too  early  in  the  day  or  too  early  in  life, 
—  and  in  general,  the  use  of  tobacco  by  those  with  whom 
it  does  not  agree,  —  which  rather  reminds  one  of  the 
early  temperance  pledges,  which  bound  a  man  to  drink 
no  more  rum  than  he  found  to  be  good  for  him.  But  the 
Chief  Justice  of  the  Medical  Court  finally  instructs  hie 
jury  of  readers  that  young  men  should  give  up  a  dubious 
9  M 


194  A   NEW  COUNTERBLAST. 

pleasure  for  a  certain  good,  and  abandon  tobacco  alto- 
gether :  "  Shun  the  habit  of  smoking  as  you  would  shun 
self-destruction.  As  you  value  your  physical  and  moral 
well-being,  avoid  a  habit  which  for  you  can  offer  no  ad- 
vantage to  compare  with  the  dangers  you  incur." 

Yet,  after  all,  neither  he  nor  his  witnesses  seem  fairly 
to  have  hit  upon  what  seem  to  this  present  writer  the 
two  incontrovertible  arguments  against  tobacco ;  one  be- 
ing drawn  from  theory,  and  the  other  from  practice. 

First,  as  to  the  theory  of  the  thing.  The  laws  of  Nature 
warn  every  man  who  uses  tobacco  for  the  first  time,  that 
he  is  dealing  with  a  poison.  Nobody  denies  this  attribute 
of  the  plant ;  it  is  "  a  narcotic  poison  of  the  most  active 
class."  It  is  not  merely  that  a  poison  can  by  chemical 
process  be  extracted  from  it,  but  it  is  a  poison  in  its  sim- 
plest form.  Its  mere  application  to  the  skin  has  often 
produced  uncontrollable  nausea  and  prostration.  Chil- 
dren have  in  several  cases  been  killed  by  the  mere  appli- 
cation of  tobacco  ointment  to  the  head.  Soldiers  have 
simulated  sickness  by  placing  it  beneath  the  ai'mpits,  — 
though  in  most  cases  our  regiments  would  probably  con- 
sider this  a  mistaken  application  of  the  treasure.  Tobac- 
co, then,  is  simply  and  absolutely  a  poison. 

Now  to  say  that  a  substance  is  a  poison,  is  not  to  say 
that  it  inevitably  kills  ;  it  may  be  apparently  innocuous, 
if  not  incidentally  beneficial.  King  Mithridates,  it  is 
said,  learned  habitually  to  consume  these  dangerous  com- 
modities ;  and  the  scarcely  less  mythical  Du  Chaillu, 
after  the  fatigues  of  his  gorilla  warfare,  found  decided 
benefit  from  two  ounces  of  arsenic.  But  to  say  that  a 
substance  is  a  poison,  is  to  say  at  least  that  it  is  a  noxious 
drug,  —  that  it  is  a  medicine,  not  an  aliment,  —  that  its 
effects  are  pathological,  not  physiological,  —  and  that  its 


A   NEW  COUNTERBLAST.  195 

use  should  therefore  be  exceptional,  not  habitual.  Not 
tending  to  the  preservation  of  a  normal  state,  but  at  best 
to  the  correction  of  some  abnormal  one,  its  whole  value, 
if  it  have  any,  lies  in  the  rarity  of  its  application.  To 
apply  a  powerful  drug  at  a  certain  hour  every  day,  is  like 
a  schoolmaster's  whipping  his  pupil  at  a  certain  hour 
every  day  the  victim  may  become  inured,  but  undoubt- 
edly the  specific  value  of  the  remedy  must  vanish  with 
the  repetition. 

Thus  much  would  be  true,  were  it  proved  that  tobacco 
is  in  some  cases  apparently  beneficial.  No  drug  is  bene- 
ficial, when  constantly  employed.  But,  furthermore,  if 
not  beneficial,  it  then  is  injurious.  As  Dr.  Holmes  has 
so  forcibly  expounded,  every  medicine  is  in  itself  hurtful. 
All  noxious  agents,  according  to  him,  cost  a  patient,  on 
an  average,  five  per  cent  of  his  vital  power;  that  is, 
twenty  times  as  much  would  kill  him.  It  is  believed 
that  they  are  sometimes  indirectly  useful ;  it  is  known 
that  they  are  always  directly  hurtful.  That  is,  I  have  a 
neighbor  on  one  side  who  takes  tobacco  to  cure  his  dys- 
pepsia, and  a  neighbor  on  the  other  side  who  takes  blue 
pill  for  his  infirmities  generally.  The  profit  of  the  opera- 
tion may  be  sure  or  doubtful ;  the  outlay  is  certain,  and 
to  be  deducted  in  any  event.  I  have  no  doubt,  my  dear 
Madam,  that  your  interesting  son  has  learned  to  smoke, 
as  he  states,  in  order  to  check  that  very  distressing  tooth- 
ache which  so  hindered  his  studies  ;  but  I  sincerely  think 
it  would  be  better  to  have  the  affliction  removed  by  a 
dentist  at  a  cost  of  fifty  cents,  than  by  a  drug  at  an  ex- 
pense of  five  per  cent  of  vital  power. 

Fortunately,  when  it  comes  to  the  practical  test,  the 
whole  position  is  conceded  to  our  hands,  and  the  very  dev- 
otees of  tobacco  are  false  to  their  idol.  It  is  not  merely 


196  A   NEW  COUNTERBLAST. 

that  the  most  fumigatoiy  parent  dissuades  his  sons  from 
the  practice ;  but  there  is  a  more  remarkable  instance. 
Tf  any  two  classes  can  be  singled  out  in  the  community 
as  the  largest  habitual  consumers  of  tobacco,  it  must  be 
the  college  students  and  the  the  city  "  roughs  "  or  "  row- 
dies," or  whatever  the  latest  slang  name  is,  —  for  these 
roysterers,  like  oysters,  incline  to  names  with  an  r  in. 
Now  the  "  rough,"  when  brought  to  a  physical  climax, 
becomes  the  prize-fighter ;  and  the  college  student  is  seen 
in  his  highest  condition  as  the  prize-oarsman :  and  both 
these  representative  men,  under  such  circumstances  of 
ambition,  straightway  abandon  tobacco.  Such  a  conces- 
sion, from  such  a  quarter,  is  worth  all  the  denunciations 
of  good  Mr.  Trask.  Appeal,  O  anxious  mother !  from 
Philip  smoking  to  Philip  training.  What  your  progeny 
will  not  do  for  any  considerations  of  ethics  or  economy,  — 
to  save  his  sisters'  olfactories  or  the  atmosphere  of  the 
family  altar,  —  that  he  does  unflinchingly  at  one  word 
from  the  stroke-oar  or  the  commodore.  In  so  doing,  he 
surrenders  every  inch  of  the  ground,  and  owns  unequivo- 
cally that  he  is  in  better  condition  without  tobacco.  The 
old  traditions  of  training  are  in  some  other  respects  being 
softened  :  strawberries  are  no  longer  contraband,  and  the 
last  agonies  of  thirst  are  no  longer  a  part  of  the  prescrip- 
tion ;  but  training  and  tobacco  are  still  incompatible. 
There  is  not  a  regatta  or  a  prize-fight  in  which  the  bet- 
ting would  not  be  seriously  affected  by  the  discovery  that 
cither  party  used  the  beguiling  weed. 

The  argument  is  irresistible,  —  or  rather,  it  is  not  so 
much  an  argument  as  a  plea  of  guilty  under  the  indict- 
ment. The  prime  devotees  of  tobacco  voluntarily  abstain 
from  it,  like  Lord  Raglan  and  Admiral  Napier,  when  they 
wish  to  be  in  their  best  condition.  But  are  we  ever,  any 


A  NEW   COUNTERBLAST.  197 

of  us,  in  too  good  con  iition  ?  Have  all  the  sanitary  con- 
ventions yet  succeeded  in  detecting  one  man,  in  our  high- 
pressure  America,  who  finds  himself  too  well  ?  If  a  man 
goes  into  training  for  the  mimic  contest,  why  not  for  the 
actual  one  ?  If  he  needs  steady  nerves  and  a  cool  head 
for  the  play  of  life,  —  and  even  prize-fighting  is  called 
"  sporting,"  —  why  not  for  its  earnest  ?  Here  we  are  all 
croaking  that  we  are  not  in  the  health  in  which  our  twen- 
tieth birthday  found  us,  and  yet  we  will  not  condescend 
to  the  wise  abstinence  which  even  twenty  practises. 
Moderate  training  is  simply  a  rational  and  healthful  life. 
So  palpable  is  this,  that  there  is  strong  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  the  increased  attention  to  physical  training  is 
operating  against  tobacco.  If  we  may  trust  literature,  as 
ha?  been  shown,  its  use  is  not  now  so  great  as  formerly,  in 
spite  of  the  vague  guesses  of  alarmists.  "  It  is  estimated," 
says  Mr.  Coles,  "  that  the  consumption  of  tobacco  in  this 
country  is  eight  times  as  great  as  in  France  and  three 
times  as  great  as  in  England,  in  proportion  to  the  popula- 
tion " ;  but  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  more  uncertain 
than  "It  is  estimated."  It  is  frequently  estimated,  for 
instance,  that  nine  out  of  ten  of  our  college  students  use 
tobacco  ;  and  yet,  by  the  statistics  of  the  last  graduating 
class  at  Cambridge,  it  appears  that  it  is  used  by  only 
thirty-one  out  of  seventy-six.  I  am  satisfied  that  the 
extent  of  the  practice  is  often  exaggerated.  In  a  gym- 
nastic club  of  young  men,  for  instance,  where  I  have  had 
opportunity  to  take  the  statistics,  it  is  found  that  less  than 
one  quarter  use  it,  though  there  has  never  been  any  agi- 
tation or  discussion  of  the  matter.  These  things  indicate 
that  it  can  no  longer  be  claimed,  as  Moliere  asserted  two 
centuries  ago,  that  he  who  lives  without  tobacco  is  not 
wcrthy  to  live. 


198  A  NEW  COUNTERBLAST. 

And  as  there  has  been  some  exaggeration  in  describing 
the  extent  to  which  Tobacco  is  King,  so  there  has  doubt- 
less been  some  overstatement  as  to  the  cruelty  of  his  des- 
potism. Enough,  however,  remains  to  condemn  him. 
The  present  writer,  at  least,  has  the  firmest  conviction, 
from  personal  observation  and  experience,  that  the  im- 
agined benefits  of  tobacco-using  (which  have  never, 
perhaps,  been  better  stated  than  in  an  essay  which 
appeared  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  in  August,  1860)  are 
ordinarily  an  illusion,  and  its  evils  a  far  more  solid  reality, 
—  that  it  stimulates  only  to  enervate,  soothes  only  to  de- 
press, —  that  it  neither  permanently  calms  the  nerves  nor 
softens  the  temper  nor  enlightens  the  brain,  but  that  in 
the  end  its  tendencies  are  precisely  the  opposites  of  these, 
beside  the  undoubted  incidental  objections  of  costliness 
and  uncleanness.  When  men  can  find  any  other  instance 
of  a  poisonous  drug  which  is  suitable  for  daily  consump- 
tion, they  will  be  more  consistent  in  using  this.  When 
it  is  admitted  to  be  innocuous  to  those  who  are  training 
for  athletic  feats,  it  may  be  possible  to  suppose  it  beneficial 
to  those  who  are  out  of  training.  Meanwhile  there  seems 
no  ground  for  its  supporters  except  that  to  which  the 
famous  Robert  Hall  was  reduced,  as  he  says,  by  "  the 
society  of  Doctors  of  Divinity."  He  sent  a  message  to 
Dr.  Clarke,  in  return  for  a  pamphlet  against  tobacco,  that 
he  could  not  possibly  refute  his  arguments  and  could  not 
possibly  give  up  smoking. 


THE    HEALTH    OF   OUR    GIRLS. 


THE   HEALTH   OF   OUR   GIRLS. 


AMONG  the  lower  animals,  so  far  as  the  facts  have 
been  noticed,  there  seems  no  great  inequality,  as  to 
strength  or  endurance,  between  the  sexes.  In  migratory 
tribes,  as  of  birds  or  buffaloes,  the  males  are  not  observed 
to  slacken  or  shorten  their  journeys  from  any  gallant  def- 
erence to  female  weakness,  nor  are  the  females  found  to 
perish  disproportionately  through  exhaustion.  It  is  the 
English  experience,  that  among  coursing-dogs  and  race- 
horses there  is  no  serious  sexual  inequality.  .ZElian  say3 
that  Semiramis  did  not  exult  when  in  the  chase  she  cap- 
tured a  lion,  but  was  proud  when  she  took  a  lioness,  the 
dangers  of  the  feat  being  far  greater.  Hunters  as  will- 
ingly encounter  the  male  as  the  female  of  most  savage 
beasts ;  and  if  an  adventurous  fowler,  plundering  an 
eagle's  nest,  has  his  eyes  assaulted  by  the  parent-bird,  it 
is  no  matter  whether  the  discourtesy  proceeds  from  the 
gentleman  or  the  lady  of  the  household. 

Passing  to  the  ranks  of  humanity,  it  is  the  general  rule, 
that,  wherever  the  physical  nature  has  a  fair  chance,  the 
woman  shows  no  extreme  deficiency  of  endurance  or 
strength.  Even  the  sentimental  physiology  of  Michelet 
is  compelled  to  own  that  his  elaborate  theories  of  lovely 
invalidism  have  no  application  to  the  peasant-women  of 

9* 


202  THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS. 

France,  that  is,  to  nineteen  twentieths  of  the  population. 
Among  human  beings,  the  disparities  of  race  and  training 
far  outweigh  those  of  sex.  The  sedentary  philosopher, 
turning  from  his  demonstration  of  the  hopeless  inferiority 
of  woman,  finds  with  dismay  that  his  Irish  or  negro  hand- 
maiden can  lift  a  heavy  coal-hod  more  easily  than  he. 
And  while  the  dream  is  vanishing  of  the  superiority  of 
savage  racer,  on  every  other  point,  it  still  remains  un- 
questionable that  in  every  distinctive  attribute  of  physical 
womanhood  ihe  barbarian  has  the  advantage. 

The  truth  is,  that  in  all  countries  female  health  and 
strength  go  with  peasant  habits.  In  Italy,  for  instance, 
About  says,  that,  of  all  useful  animals,  the  woman  is  the 
one  that  the  Roman  peasant  employs  with  the  most  profit. 
"  She  makes  the  bread  and  the  cake  of  Turkish  corn ; 
she  spins,  she  weaves,  she  sews  ;  she  goes  every  day 
three  miles  for  wood  and  a  mile  for  water ;  she  carries  on 
her  head  the  load  of  a  mule ;  she  toils  from  sunrise  to 
sunset  without  resisting  or  even  complaining.  The  chil- 
dren, which  she  brings  forth  in  great  numbers,  and  which 
she  nurses  herself,  are  a  great  resource ;  from  the  age 
of  four  years  they  can  be  employed  hi  guarding  other 
animals." 

Beside  this  may  be  placed  the  experience  of  Moffat, 
the  African  missionary,  who,  seeing  a  party  of  native 
women  engaged  in  their  usual  labor  of  house-building,  and 
just  ready  to  put  the  roof  on,  suggested  that  some  of  the 
men  who  stood  by  should  lend  a  hand.  It  was  received 
with  general  laughter ;  but  Mahuto,  the  queen,  declared 
that  the  plan,  though  hopeless  of  execution,  was  in  itself  a 
good  one,  and  that  men,  though  excused  from  lighter 
labors,  ought  to  take  an  equal  share  in  the  severer,  — 
adding,  that  she  wished  the  missionaries  would  give  their 
husbands  medicine  and  make  them  work. 


THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS.  203 

The  health  of  educated  womanhood  in  the  different 
European  nations  seems  to  depend  mainly  upon  the  de- 
gree of  conformity  to  these  rustic  habits  of  air  and  exer- 
cise. In  Italy,  Spain,  Portugal,  the  women  of  the  upper 
classes  lead  secluded  and  unhealthy  lives,  and  hence  their 
physical  condition  is  not  superior  to  our  own.  In  the 
Northern  nations,  women  of  refinement  do  more  to  emu- 
late the  active  habits  of  the  peasantry,  —  only  substituting 
out-door  relaxations  for  out-door  toil,  —  and  so  they  share 
their  health.  This  is  especially  the  case  in  England, 
which  accordingly  seems  to  furnish  the  representative 
types  of  vigorous  womanhood.  "  The  nervous  system  of 
the  female  sex  in  England  seems  to  be  of  a  much  stronger 
mould  than  that  of  other  nations,"  says  Dr.  Merei,  a  med- 
ical practitioner  of  English  and  Continental  experience. 
"  They  bear  a  degree  of  irritation  in  their  systems,  with- 
out the  issue  of  fits,  which  in  other  races  is  not  so  easily 
tolerated."  So  Professor  Tyndall,  watching  female  pedes- 
trianism  among  the  Alps,  exults  in  his  countrywomen 
"  The  contrast  in  regard  to  energy  between  the  maidens 
of  the  British  Isles  and  those  of  the  Continent  and  of 
America  is  astonishing."  When  Catlin's  Indians  first 
walked  the  streets  of  London,  they  reported  with  wonder 
that  they  had  seen  many  handsome  squaws  holding  to  the 
arms  of  men,  "  and  they  did  not  look  sick  either  "  ;  —  a 
remark  which  no  complimentary  savage  was  ever  heard 
to  make  in  any  Cisatlantic  metropolis. 

There  is  undoubtedly  an  impression  in  this  country  that 
the  English  vigor  is  bought  at  some  sacrifice,  —  that  it 
implies  a  nervous  organization  less  fine  and  artistic,  fea- 
tures and  limbs  more  rudely  moulded,  and  something  more 
Coarse  and  peasant-like  in  the  whole  average  texture. 
Making  all  due  allowance  for  national  vanity,  it  is  yet 


204  THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIHLS. 

easy  to  see  that  superiority  may  be  had  more  cheaply  bj 
lowering  the  plane  of  attainment  The  physique  of  a 
healthy  day-laborer  is  a  thing  of  inferior  mould  to  the 
physique  of  a  healthy  artist.  Muscular  power  needs  also 
nervous  power  to  bring  out  its  finest  quality.  Lightness 
and  grace  are  not  incompatible  with  vigor,  but  are  its 
crowning  illustration.  Apollo  is  above  Hercules  ;  Hebe 
and  Diana  are  winged,  not  weighty.  The  physiologist 
must  never  forget  that  Nature  is  aiming  at  a  keener  and 
subtiler  temperament  in  framing  the  American,  —  as  be- 
neath our  drier  atmosphere  the  whole  scale  of  sounds  and 
hues  and  odors  is  tuned  to  a  higher  key,  —  and  that  for 
us  an  equal  state  of  health  may  yet  produce  a  higher  type 
of  humanity.  To  make  up  the  arrears  of  past  neglect, 
therefore,  is  a  matter  of  absolute  necessity,  if  we  wish  this 
experiment  of  national  temperament  to  have  any  chance  ; 
since  rude  health,  however  obtuse,  will  in  the  end  over- 
match disease,  however  finely  strung. 

But  the  fact  must  always  be  kept  in  mind,  that  the 
whole  problem  of  female  health  is  most  closely  inter- 
twined with  that  of  social  conditions.  The  Anglo-Saxon 
organization  <s  being  modified  not  only  in  America,  but 
also  in  England,  with  the  changing  habits  of  the  people. 
In  the  days  of  Henry  VIII.  it  was  "  a  wyve's  occupation 
to  winnow  all  manner  of  cornes,  to  make  malte,  to  wash 
and  ironyng.  to  make  hay,  shere  corne,  and  in  time  of 
nede  to  help  her  husband  fill  the  muchpayne,  drive  the 
plough,  load  hay,  corne,  and  such  other,  and  go  or  ride  to 
the  market  to  sell  butter,  cheese,  egges,  chekyns,  capons, 
hens,  pigs,  geese,  and  all  manner  of  cornes."  But  now 
there  is  everywhere  complaint  of  the  growing  delicacy 
and  fragility  of  the  English  female  population,  even  in 
rural  regions  ;  and  the  king  of  sanitary  reformers,  Edwin 


THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR    GIRLS.  205 

Chadwick,  has  lately  made  this  complaint  the  subject  of 
a  special  report  before  the  National  Association.  He 
assumes,  as  a  matter  settled  by  medical  authority,  that 
the  proportion  of  mothers  who  can  suckle  their  children 
is  decidedly  diminishing  among  the  upper  and  middle 
classes,  that  deaths  from  childbirth  are  eight  times  as 
great  among  these  classes  as  among  the  peasantry,  and 
that  spinal  distortion,  hysteria,  and  painful  disorders  are 
on  the  increase.  Nine  tenths  of  the  evil  he  attributes  to 
the  long  hours  of  school  study,  and  to  the  neglect  of 
physical  exercises  for  girls. 

This  shows  that  the  symptoms  of  ill-health  among 
women  are  not  a  matter  of  climate'  only,  but  indicate  a 
change  in  social  conditions,  producing  a  change  of  per- 
sonal habits.  It  is  something  which  reaches  all ;  for  the 
standard  of  health  in  the  farm-houses  is  with  us  no  higher 
than  in  the  cities.  It  is  something  which,  unless  removed, 
stands  as  a  bar  to  any  substantial  progress  in  civilization. 
It  is  a  mere  mockery  for  the  millionnaire  to  create  galleries 
of  Art,  bringing  from  Italy  a  Venus'on  canvas  or  a  stone 
Diana,  if  meanwhile  a  lovelier  bloom  than  ever  artist 
painted  is  fading  from  his  own  child's  cheek,  and  a  firmer 
vigor  than  that  of  marble  is  vanishing  from  her  enfeebled 
arms.  What  use  to  found  colleges  for  girls  whom  even 
the  high-school  breaks  down,  or  to  induct  them  into  new 
industrial  pursuits  when  they  have  not  strength  to  stand 
behind  a  counter  ?  How  appeal  to  any  woman  to  enlarge 
her  thoughts  beyond  the  mere  drudgery  of  the  household, 
when  she  "  dies  daily "  beneath  the  exhaustion  of  even 
that? 

And  the  perplexity  lies  beyond  the  disease,  in  the 
perils  involved  even  in  the  remedy.  No  person  can  be 
long  conversant  with  physical  training,  without  learning 


206  THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLb. 

to  shrink  from  the  responsibility  of  the  health  of  girls. 
The  panacea  for  boyish  health  is  commonly  simple,  even 
in  delicate  cases.  Removal  from  books,  if  necessary,  and 
the  substitution  of  farm-life,  —  with  good  food,  pure  air, 
dogs,  horses,  oxen,  hens,  rabbits,  —  and  fresh  or  salt  water 
within  walking  distance.  Secure  these  conditions,  and 
then  let  him  alone ;  he  will  not  hurt  himself.  Nor  will, 
during  mere  childhood,  his  little  sister  experience  any- 
thing but  benefit,  under  the  same  circumstances.  But  at 
the  epoch  of  womanhood,  precisely  when  the  constitution 
should  be  acquiring  robust  strength,  her  perils  begin  ;  she 
then  needs  not  merely  to  be  allured  to  exertion,  but  to  be 
protected  against  over-exertion ;  experience  shows  that 
she  cannot  be  turned  loose,  cannot  be  safely  left  with  boy- 
ish freedom  to  take  her  fill  of  running,  rowing,  riding, 
swimming,  skating,  —  because  life-long  injury  may  be  the 
penalty  of  a  single  excess.  This  necessity  for  caution 
cannot  be  the  normal  condition,  for  such  caution  cannot 
be  exerted  for  the  female  peasant  or  savage,  but  it  seems 
the  necessary  condition  for  American  young  women.  It 
is  a  fact  not  to  be  ignored,  that  some  of  the  strongest  and 
most  athletic  girls  among  us  have  lost  their  health  and 
become  invalids  for  years,  simply  by  being  allowed  to  live 
the  robust,  careless,  indiscreet  life  on  which  boys  thrive 
so  wonderfully.  It  is  fatal,  if  they  do  too  little,  and  dis- 
astrous, if  they  do  too  much ;  and  between  these  two 
opposing  perils  the  process  of  steering  is  so  difficult,  that 
the  majority  of  parents  end  in  letting  go  the  helm  and 
leaving  the  fragile  vessel  to  steer  itself. 

Everything  that  follows  in  these  pages  must  therefore 
be  construed  in  the  light  of  this  admitted  difficulty.  The 
health  of  boys  is  a  matter  not  hard  to  treat,  on  purely 
physiological  grounds ;  but  in  dealing  with  that  of  girls 


THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS.  207 

caution  is  necessary.  Yet,  after  all,  the  perplexities  can 
only  obscure  the  details  of  the  prescription,  while  the  main 
substance  is  unquestionable.  Nowhere  in  the  universe, 
save  in  improved  habits,  can  we  ever  find  health  for  our 
girls.  Special  delicacy  in  the  conditions  of  the  problem 
only  implies  more  sedulous  care  in  the  solution.  The 
great  laws  of  exercise,  of  respiration,  of  digestion,  are 
essentially  the  same  for  all  human  beings  ;  and  greater 
sensitiveness  in  the  patient  should  riot  relax,  but  only 
stimulate,  our  efforts  after  cure.  And  the  unquestionable 
fact  that  there  are  among  us,  after  the  worst  is  said,  large 
numbers  of  robust  and  healthy  women,  should  keep  up 
our  courage  until  we  can  apply  their  standard  to  the 
whole  sex. 

In  presence  of  an  evil  so  great,  it  is  inevitable  that 
there  should  be  some  fantastic  theories  of  cure.  But  ex- 
tremes are  quite  pardonable,  where  it  is  so  important  to 
explore  all  the  sources  of  danger.  Special  ills  should 
have  special  assailants,  at  whatever  risk  of  exaggeration. 
As  water-cures  and  vegetarian  boarding-houses  are  the 
necessary  defence  of  humanity  against  dirt  and  over- 
eating, so  is  the  most  ungainly  Bloomer  that  ever  drifted 
on  bare  poles  across  the  continent  a  providential  protest 
against  the  fashion-plates.  It  is  probable,  that,  on  the 
whole,  there  is  a  gradual  amelioration  in  female  costume. 
These  hooded  water-proof  cloaks,  equalizing  all  woman- 
kind,—  these  thick  soles  and  heavy  heels,  proclaiming 
themselves  with  such  masculine  emphasis  on  the  pave- 
ment, —  these  priceless  india-rubber  boots,  emancipating 
all  juvenile  femineity  from  the  terrors  of  mud  and  snow, — 
all  these  indicate  an  approaching  era  of  good  sense ;  for 
they  are  the  requisite  machinery  of  air,  exercise,  and 
health,  so  far  as  they  go. 


208  THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS. 

The  weight  of  skirts  and  the  constraints  of  corsets  are 
still  properly  made  the  theme  of  indignant  declamation. 
Yet  let  us  be  just.  It  is  impossible  to  make  costume  the 
prime  culprit,  when  we  recall  what  robust  generations 
have  been  reared  beneath  the  same  formidable  panoply. 
For  instance,  it  seems  as'  if  no  woman  could  habitually 
walk  uninjured  with  a  weight  of  twelve  pounds  of  skirts 
suspended  at  her  hips,  —  Dr.  Coale  is  responsible  for  the 
statistics,  —  and  as  if  salvation  must  therefore  lie  in 
shoulder-straps.  Yet  the  practice  cannot  be  sheer  sui- 
cide, when  the  Dutch  peasant-girl  plods  bloomingly 
through  her  daily  duties  beneath  a  dozen  successive 
involucres  of  flannel.  So  in  regard  to  tight  lacing,  no 
one  can  doubt  its  ill  effects,  since  even  a  man's  loose  gar- 
ments are  known  to  diminish  by  one  fourth  his  capacity 
for  respiration.  Yet  inspect  in  the  shop-windows  (where 
the  facts  of  female  costume  are  obtruded  too  pertinaciously 
for  the  public  to  remain  in  ignorance)  the  light  and  flex- 
ible corsets  of  these  days,  and  then  contemplate  at  Pilgrim 
Hall  in  Plymouth  the  stout  buckram  stays  that  once  in- 
cased the  stouter  heart  of  Alice  Bradford.  Those,  again, 
were  to  those  of  a  still  earlier  epoch  as  leather  to  chain- 
armor.  The  Countess  of  Buchan  was  confined  in  an  iron 
cage  for  life  for  assisting  to  crown  Robert  the  Bruce,  but 
her  only  loss  by  the  incarceration  was  that  her  iron  cage 
ceased  to  be  portable. 

Passing  from  costume,  it  must  be  noticed  that  there  are 
many  physical  evils  which  the  American  woman  shares 
with  the  other  sex,  but  which  bear  with  far  greater  sever- 
ity on  her  finer  organization.  There  is  improper  food,  for 
instance.  The  fried  or  salted  meat,  the  heavy  bread,  the 
perennial  pork,  the  disastrous  mince-pies  of  our  farmers' 
houses,  arc  sometimes  pardoned  by  Nature  to  the  men  of 


THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS.  209 

the  family,  in  consideration  of  twelve  or  more  hours  of 
out-door  labor.  For  the  more  sedentary  and  delicate 
daughter  there  is  no  such  atonement,  and  she  vibrates 
between  dyspepsia  and  starvation.  The  only  locality  in 
America  where  I  have  ever  found  the  farming  population 
living  habitually  on  wholesome  diet  is  the  Quaker  region 
in  Eastern  Pennsylvania,  and  I  have  never  seen  anywhere 
else  such  a  healthy  race  of  women.  Yet  here,  again,  it  is 
not  safe  to  be  hasty,  or  to  lay  the  whole  responsibility 
upon  the  kitchen,  when  we  recall  the  astounding  diet  on 
which  healthy  Englishwomen  subsisted  two  centuries  ago. 
Consider,  for  instance,  the  housekeeping  of  the  Duke  of 
Northumberland.  "My  lord  and  lady  have  for  breakfast, 
at  seven  o'clock,  a  quart  of  beer,  as  much  wine,  two  pieces 
of  salt  fish,  six  red  herring,  four  white  ones,  and  a  dish  of 
sprats."  Digestive  resources  which  could  entertain  this 
bill  of  fare  might  safely  be  trusted  to  travel  in  America. 

The  educational  excesses  of  our  schools,  also,  though 
shared  by  both  sexes,  tell  much  more  formidably  upon 
girls,  in  proportion  as  they  are  keener  students,  more  sub- 
missive pupils,  and  are  given  to  studying  their  lessons  at 
recess-time,  instead  of  shouting  and  racing  in  the  open  air. 
They  are  also  easily  coerced  into  devoting  Wednesday  and 
Saturday  afternoons  to  the  added  atrocity  of  music-lessons, 
and  in  general,  but  for  the  recent  blessed  innovation  of 
skating,  would  undoubtedly  submit  to  having  every  atom 
of  air  and  exercise  eliminated  from  their  lives.  It  is  rare 
to  find  an  American  mother  who  habitually  ranks  physical 
vigor  first,  in  rearing  her  daughters,  and  intellectual  cul- 
ture only  second ;  indeed,  they  are  commonly  satisfied 
with  a  merely  negative  condition  of  health.  The  girl  is 
considered  to  be  well,  if  she  is  not  too  ill  to  go  to  school ; 
and  she  therefore  lives  from  hand  to  mouth,  as  respects 


210  THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS. 

her  constitution,  and  lays  up  nothing  for  emergencies. 
From  this  negative  condition  proceeds  her  inability  to 
endure  accidents  which  to  an  active  boy  would  be  trivial. 
Who  ever  hears  of  a  boy's  incurring  a  lame  knee  for  a 
year  by  slipping  on  the  ice,  or  spinal  disease  for  a  lifetime 
by  a  fall  from  a  sled  ?  And  if  a  girl  has  not  enough  of 
surplus  vitality  to  overcome  such  trifles  as  these,  how  is 
she  fitted  to  meet  the  coming  fatigues  of  wife  and  mother? 
These  are  important,  if  superficial,  suggestions ;  but 
there  are  other  considerations  which  go  deeper.  I  take 
the  special  provocatives  of  disease  among  American 
women  to  be  in  great  part  social.  The  one  marked 
step  achieved  thus  far  by  our  civilization  appears  to  be 
the  abolition  of  the  peasant  class,  among  the  native-born, 
and  the  elevation  of  the  mass  of  women  to  the  social  zone 
of  music-lessons  and  silk  gowns.  This  implies  the  disap- 
pearance of  field-labor  for  women,  and,  unfortunately,  of 
that  rustic  health  also  which  in  other  countries  is  a  stand- 
ing exemplar  for  all  classes.  Wherever  the  majority  of 
women  work  in  the  fields,  the  privileged  minority  are 
constantly  reminded  that  they  also  hold  their  •  health  by 
the  tenure  of  some  substituted  activity.  With  us,  all 
women  have  been  relieved  from  out-door  labor,  —  and 
are  being  sacrificed  in  the  process,  until  they  learn  to 
supply  its  place.  Except  the  graceful  and  vanishing 
pursuit  of  hop-picking,  there  is  in  New  England  no 
agricultural  labor  in  which  women  can  be  said  to  be 
habitually  engaged.  Most  persons  never  saw  an  Amer- 
ican woman  making  hay,  unless  in  the  highly  imaginative 
cantata  of  "  The  Hay-Makers " ;  and  Dolly  the  Dairy- 
Maid  is  becoming  to  our  children  as  purely  ideal  a  being 
as  Cinderella.  We  thus  lose  not  only  the  immediate 
effect,  but  the  indirect  example,  of  these  out-door  toils. 


THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS.  211 

This  influence  of  the  social  transition  bears  upon  al 
women :  there  is  another  which  especially  touches  wive; 
and  mothers.  In  European  countries,  the  aim  at  any- 
thing like  gentility  implies  keeping  one  or  more  domestics 
to  perform  household  labors ;  but  in  our  Free  States  every 
family  aims  at  gentility,  while  not  one  in  five  keeps  a 
domestic.  The  aim  is  not  a  foolish  one,  though  follies 
may  accompany  it,  —  for  the  average  ambition  of  our 
people  includes  a  certain  amount  of  refined  cultivation  ; 
—  it  is  only  that  the  process  is  exhausting.  Every 
woman  must  have  a  best-parlor  with  hair-cloth  furniture 
and  a  photograph-book  ;  she  must  have  a  piano,  or  some 
cheaper  substitute ;  her  little  girls  must  have  embroidered 
skirts  and  much  mathematical  knowledge ;  her  husband 
must  have  two,  or  even  three,  hot  meals  every  day  of  his 
life  ;  and  yet  her  house  must  be  in  perfect  order  early  in 
the  afternoon,  and  she  prepared  to  go  out  and  pay  calls, 
with  a  black-silk  dress  and  a  card-case.  In  the  evening 
she  will  go  to  a  concert  or  a  lecture,  and  then,  at  the  end 
of  all,  she  will  very  possibly  sit  up  after  midnight  with 
her  sewing-machine,  doing  extra  shop-work  to  pay  for 
little  Ella's  music-lessons.  All  this  every  "capable"  New- 
England  woman  will  do,  or  die.  She  does  it,  and  dies ; 
and  then  we  are  astonished  that  her  vital  energy  gives 
out  sooner  than  that  of  an  Irishwoman  in  a  shanty,  with 
no  ambition  on  earth  but  to  supply  her  young  Patricks 
with  adequate  potatoes. 

Now  it  is  useless  to  attempt  to  set  back  the  great  social 
flood.  The  New-England  housekeeper  will  never  be 
killed  by  idleness,  at  any  rate  ;  and  if  she  is  exposed  to 
the  opposite  danger,  we  must  fit  her  for  it,  that  is  all. 
There  is  reason  to  be  hopeful ;  the  human  race  as  a 
whole  is  tending  upward,  even  physically,  and  if  we 


212  THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLa. 

cannot  make  our  girls  healthy  quite  yet,  we  shall  learn 
to  do  it  by  and  by.  Meanwhile  we  must  hold  hard  to 
the  conviction,  that  not  merely  decent  health,  but  even  a 
high  physical  training,  is  a  thing  thoroughly  practicable 
for  both  sexes.  If  a  young  girl  can  tire  out  her  partner 
in  the  dance,  if  a  delicate  wife  can  carry  her  baby  twice 
as  long  as  her  athletic  husband,  (for  certainly  there  is 
nothing  in  the  gymnasium  more  amazing  than  the  mother's 
left  arm,)  then  it  is  evident  that  the  female  frame  contains 
muscular  power,  or  its  equivalent,  though  it  may  take 
music  or  maternity  to  bring  it  out.  But  other  induce- 
ments have  proved  sufficient,  and  the  results  do  not  admit 
of  question.  The  Oriental  bayaderes,  for  instance,  are 
trained  from  childhood  as  gymnasts :  they  carry  heavy 
jars  on  their  heads,  to  improve  strength,  gait,  and  figure ; 
they  fly  kites,  to  acquire  "  statuesque  attitudes  and  grace- 
ful surprises  " ;  they  must  learn  to  lay  the  back  of  the 
hand  flat  against  the  wrist,  to  partially  bend  the  arm  in 
both  directions  at  the  elbow,  and,  inclining  the  whole  per- 
son backward  from  the  waist,  to  sweep  the  floor  with  the 
hair.  So,  among  ourselves,  the  great  athletic  resources 
of  the  female  frame  are  vindicated  by  every  equestrian 
goddess  of  the  circus,  every  pet  of  the  ballet.  Those  airy 
nymphs  have  been  educated  for  their  vocation  by  an 
amount  of  physical  fatigue  which  their  dandy  admirers 
may  well  prefer  to  contemplate  through  the  safe  remote- 
ness of  an  opera-glass.  Dr.  Gardner,  of  New  York,  has 
lately  contributed  very  important  professional  observations 
upon  this  class  of  his  patients ;  he  describes  their  physique 
as  infinitely  superior  to  that  of  ordinary  women,  wonder- 
fully adapting  them,  not  only  to  the  extraordinary,  but  to 
the  common  perils  of  their  sex,  "  with  that  happy  union 
of  power  and  pliability  most  to  be  desired."  "  Theii 


THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS.  213 

occupation  demands  in  its  daily  study  and  subsequent 
practice  an  amount  of  long-continued  muscular  energy 
of  the  severest  character,  little  recognized  or  understood 
by  the  community  " ;  and  his  description  of  their  habitual 
immunity  in  the  ordeals  of  womanhood  reminds  one  of 
the  descriptions  of  savage  tribes.  But  it  is  really  a  sin- 
gular retribution  for  our  prolonged  offences  against  the 
body,  when  our  saints  are  thus  compelled  to  take  their 
models  from  the  reputed  sinners,  —  prize-fighters  being 
propounded  as  missionaries  for  the  men,  and  opera- 
dancers  for  the  women. 

Are  we  literally  to  infer,  then,  that  dancing  must  be 
the  primary  prescription  ?  It  would  not  be  a  bad  one. 
It  was  an  invaluable  hint  of  Hippocrates,  that  the  second- 
best  remedy  is  better  than  the  best,  if  the  patient  likes  it 
best  Beyond  all  other  merits  of  the  remedy  in  question 
is  this  crowning  advantage,  that  the  patient  likes  it.  Has 
any  form  of  exercise  ever  yet  been  invented  which  a 
young  girl  would  not  leave  for  dancing  ?  "  Women,  it  is 
well  known,"  says  Jean  Paul,  "  cannot  run,  but  only 
dance,  and  every  one  could  more  easily  reach  a  given 
point  by  dancing  than  by  walking."  It  is  practised  in 
this  country  under  immense  disadvantages  :  first,  because 
of  late  hours  and  heated  rooms ;  and  secondly,  because 
some  of  the  current  dances  seem  equally  questionable  to 
the  mamma  and  the  physiologist  But  it  is  doubtful 
whether  any  possible  gymnastic  arrangement  for  a  high- 
school  would  be  on  the  whole  so  provocative  of  whole- 
some exercise  as  a  special  hall  for  dancing,  thoroughly 
ventilated,  and  provided  with  piano  and  spring-floor. 
The  spontaneous  festivals  of  every  recess-time  would 
then  rival  those  German  public-rooms,  where  it  is  said 
you  may  see  a  whole  company  waltzing  like  teetotums, 


214  THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS. 

with  the  windows  wide  open,  at  four  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon. 

Skating  is  dancing  in  another  form  ;  both  aim  at  flying, 
and  skating  comes  nearest  to  success.  The  triumph  of 
this  art  has  been  so  astonishing,  in  the  universality  of  its 
introduction  among  our  girls  within  the  short  space  of 
four  winters,  that  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  speak  of  it, 
except  to  deduce  the  hope  that  other  out-door  enjoyments, 
equally  within  the  reach  of  girls,  may  be  as  easily  popu- 
larized. 

For  any  form  of  locomotion  less  winged  than  skating 
and  dancing,  the  feet  of  American  girls  have  hitherto 
seemed  somehow  unfitted  by  Nature.  There  is  every 
abstract  reason  why  they  should  love  walking,  on  this 
side  the  Atlantic :  there  is  plenty  of  room  for  it,  the  con- 
tinent is  large  ;  the  exercise,  moreover,  brightens  the  eye 
and  purifies  'the  complexion,  —  so  the  physiologists  de- 
clare ;  so  that  an  English  chemist  classifies  red  cheeks  as 
being  merely  oxygen  in  another  form,  and  advises  young 
ladies  who  wish  for  a  pair  to  seek  them  where  the  roses 
get  them,  out  of  doors,  —  upon  which  an  impertinent 
damsel  writes  to  ask  "  Punch  "  if  they  might  not  as  well 
carry  the  imitation  of  the  roses  a  little  farther,  and  re- 
main in  their  beds  all  the  time  ?  But  it  is  a  lamentable 
fact,  that  walking,  for  the  mere  love  of  it,  is  a  rare  habit 
among  our  young  women,  and  rarer  probably  in  the 
country  than  in  the  city ;  it  is  uncommon  to  hear  of  one 
who  walks  habitually  as  much  as  two  miles  a  day.  There 
are,  of  course,  many  exceptional  instances :  I  know 
maidens  who  love  steep  paths  and  mountain  rains,  like 
Wordsworth's  Louisa,  and  I  have  even  heard  of  eight 
young  ladies  who  walked  from  Andover  to  Boston,  twen- 
ty-three miles,  in  six  hours,  and  of  two  in  Ohio  who  did 


THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS.  215 

forty-five  miles  in  two  days.  Moreover,  with  our  impul- 
sive temperaments,  a  special  object  will  always  operate 
as  a  strong  allurement.  A  confectioner's  shop,  for  in- 
stance. A  camp  somewhere  in  the  suburbs,  with  dress- 
parades,  and  available  lieutenants.  A  new  article  of 
dress :  a  real  ermine  cape  may  be  counted  as  good  for 
three  miles  a  day,  for  the  season.  A  dearest  friend  with- 
in pedestrian  distance  :  so  that  it  would  seem  well  to 
plant  a  circle  of  delightful  families  just  in  the  outskirts 
of  every  town,  merely  to  serve  as  magnets.  Indeed,  so 
desperate  has  the  emergency  become,  that  one  might  take 
even  ladies'  hoops  to  be  a  secret  device  of  Nature  to 
secure  more  exercise  for  the  occupants  by  compelling 
them  thus  to  make  the  circuit  of  each  other,  as  the  two 
fat  noblemen  at  the  French  court  vindicated  themselves 
from  the  charge  of  indolence  by  declaring  that  each 
promenaded  twice  round  his  friend  every  morning. 

In  view  of  this  distaste  for  pedestrian  exercise,  it  seems 
strange  that  the  present  revival  of  athletic  exercises  has 
not  yet  reached  to  horsemanship,  the  traditional  type  of 
all  noble  training,  chevalerie,  chivalry.  Certainly  it  is  not 
for  the  want  of  horse-flesh,  for  never  perhaps  was  so 
much  of  that  costly  commodity  owned  in  this  community ; 
yet  in  New  England  you  shall  find  private  individuals 
who  keep  a  half-dozen  horses  each,  and  livery-stables 
possessing  fifty,  and  never  a  proper  saddle-horse  among 
them.  In  some  countries,  riding  does  half  the  work  of 
physical  training,  for  both  sexes  ;  Sir  Walter  Scott,  when 
at  Abbotsford,  never  omitted  his  daily  ride,  and  took  his 
little  daughter  with  him,  from  the  time  she  could  sit  on 
horseback  ;  but  what  New-England  man,  in  purchasing  a 
steed,  selects  with  a  view  to  a  side-saddle  ?  This  seems 
a  sad  result  of  the  wheel-maker's  trade,  and  one  grudges 


216  THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS. 

St.  "Willegis  the  wheel  on  his  coat-of-arms,  if  it  has  thua 
served  to  tame  down  freeborn  men  and  women  to  the 
slouching  and  indolent  practice  of  driving,  —  a  practice 
in  which  the  human  figure  appears  at  such  disadvantage, 
that  one  can  hardly  wonder  at  Horace  Walpole's  coach- 
man, who  had  laid  up  a  small  fortune  by  driving  the 
maids-of-honor,  and  left  it  all  to  his  son  upon  condition 
that  he  never  should  take  a  maid-of-honor  for  his  wife. 

An  exercise  to  which  girls  take  almost  as  naturally  as 
to  dancing  is  that  of  rowing,  an  accomplishment  thorough- 
ly feminine,  learned  with  great  facility,  and  on  the  whole 
safer  than  most  other  sports.  Yet  until  within  a  few 
years  no  one  thought  of  it  in  connection  with  women, 
unless  with  semi-mythical  beings,  like  Ellen  Douglas  or 
Grace  Darling.  Even  now  it  is  chiefly  a  city  accomplish- 
ment, and  you  rarely  find  at  rural  or  sea-side  places  a 
village  damsel  who  has  ever  handled  an  oar.  But  once 
having  acquired  the  art,  girls  will  readily  fatigue  them- 
selves with  its  practice,  unsolicited,  careless  of  tan  and 
freckles.  At  Dove  Harbor  it  is  far  easier  at  any  time  to 
induce  the  young  ladies  to  row  for  two  hours,  than  to 
walk  in  the  beautiful  wood-paths  for  fifteen  minutes ;  — 
the  walking  tires  them.  No  matter ;  for  a  special  exer- 
cise the  rowing  is  the  most  valuable  of  the  two,  and  fur- 
nishes just  what  the  dancing-school  omits.  Unfortunately, 
the  element  of  water  is  not  quite  a  universal  possession, 
and  no  one  can  train  Naiads  on  dry  land. 

One  of  the  merits  of  boating  is  that  it  suggests  indi- 
rectly the  attendant  accomplishment  of  swimming,  and 
this  is  something  of  such  priceless  importance  that  no 
trouble  can  be  too  great  for  its  acquisition.  Parents  are 
uneasy  until  their  children  are  vaccinated,  and  yet  leave 
them  to  incur  a  risk  as  great  and  almost  as  easily  averted. 


THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS.  217 

The  barbarian  mother,  who,  lowering  her  baby  into  the 
watei  by  her  girdle,  teaches  it  to  swim  ere  it  can  walk,  ia 
before  us  in  this  duty.  Swimming,  moreover,  is  not  one 
of  those  arts  in  which  a  little  learning  is  a  dangerous 
thing ;  on  the  contrary,  a  little  may  be  as  useful  hi  an 
emergency  as  a  great  deal,  if  it  gives  those  few  moments 
of  self-possession  amid  danger  which  will  commonly  keep 
a  person  from  drowning  until  assistance  comes.  Women 
are  naturally  as  well  fitted  for  swimming  as  men,  since 
specific  buoyancy  is  here  more  than  a  match  for  strength ; 
but  effort  is  often  needed  to  secure  for  them  those  oppor- 
tunities of  instruction  and  practice  which  the  unrestrained 
wanderings  of  boys  secure  for  them  so  easily.  For  this 
purpose,  swimming-schools  for  ladies  are  now  established 
in  many  places,  at  home  and  abroad  ;  and  the  newspapers 
have  lately  chronicled  a  swimming-match  at  a  girl's  school 
in  Berlin,  where  thirty-three  competitors  were  entered  for 
the  prize,  —  and  another  among  titled  ladies  in  Paris, 
where  each  fashionable  swimmer  was  allowed  the  use  of 
the  left  hand  only,  the  right  hand  sustaining  an  open  par- 
asol. Our  own  waters  have,  it  may  be,  exhibited  spec- 
tacles as  graceful,  though  less  known  to  fame.  Never 
may  I  forget  the  bevy  of  bright  maidens  who  under  my 
pilotage  buffeted  on  many  a  summer's  day  the  surges  of 
Cape  Ann,  learning  a  wholly  new  delight  in  trusting  the 
buoyancy  of  the  kind  old  ocean  and  the  vigor  of  their  own 
fair  arms.  Ah,  my  pupils,  some  of  you  have  since  been 
a  prince's  partners  in  the  ball-room ;  but  in  those  days, 
among  the  dancing  waves,  it  was  King  Neptune  who 
placed  on  you  his  crown. 

Other  out-door  habits  depend  upon  the  personal  tastes 
of  the  individual,  in  certain  directions,  and  are  best  cul- 
th'ated  by  educating  these.     If  a  young  girl  is  born  and 
10 


218  THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS. 

bred  with  a  love  of  any  branch  of  natural  history  or  of 
horticulture,  happy  is  she ;  for  the  mere  unconscious 
interest  of  the  pursuit  is  an  added  lease  of  life  to  her.  It 
is  the  same  with  all  branches  of  Art  whose  pursuit  leads 
into  the  open  air.  Rosa  Bonheur,  with  her  wanderings 
among  mountains  and  pastures,  alternating  with  the  vig- 
orous work  of  the  studio,  needed  no  other  appliances  for 
health.  The  same  advantages  come  to  many,  in  spite  of 
delinquent  mothers,  in  the  bracing  habits  of  household 
labor,  at  least  where  mechanical  improvements  have  not 
rendered  it  too  easy.  Improved  cooking-stoves  and  Mrs. 
Cornelius  have  made  the  culinary  art  such  a  path  of  roses 
that  it  is  hardly  now  included  in  early  training,  but  de- 
ferred till  after  matrimony.  Yet  bread-making  in  well- 
ventilated  kitchens  and  sweeping  in  open-windowed  rooms 
are  calisthenics  so  bracing  that  one  grudges  them  to  the 
Irish  maidens,  whose  round  and  comely  arms  betray  so 
much  less  need  of  their  tonic  influence  than  the  shrunken 
muscles  exhibited  so  freely  by  our  short-sleeved  belles. 

Perhaps  even  well-developed  arms  are  not  so  essential 
to  female  beauty  as  erectness  of  figure,  a  trait  on  which 
our  low  school-desks  have  made  sad  havoc.  The  only 
sure  panacea  for  round  shoulders  in  boys  appears  to  be 
the  military  drill,  and  Miss  Mitford  records  that  in  her 
youth  it  was  the  custom  in  girls'  schools  to  apply  the 
same  remedy.  Dr.  Lewis  relies  greatly  on  the  carrying 
of  moderate  weights  upon  a  padded  wooden  cap  which  he 
has  devised  for  this  purpose;  and  certainly  the  straightest 
female  figure  with  which  I  am  acquainted  —  aged  seventy- 
four  —  is  said  to  have  been  formed  by  the  youthful  habit 
of  pacing  the  floor  for  half  an  hour  daily,  with  a  book  upon 
the  head,  under  rigid  maternal  discipline.  Another  tradi- 
tional method  is  to  insist  that  the  damsel  shall  sit  erect, 


THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS.  2/9 

without  leaning  against  the  chair,  for  a  certain  number  of 
hours  daily ;  and  Sir  Walter  Scott  says  that  his  mother, 
in  her  eightieth  year,  took  as  much  care  to  avoid  giving 
any  support  to  her  back  as  if  she  had  been  still  under  the 
stern  eye  of  Mrs.  Ogilvie,  her  early  teacher.  Such  simple 
methods  may  not  be  enough  to  check  diseased  curvatures 
or  inequalities  when  already  formed :  these  are  best  met 
by  Ling's  system  of  medical  gymnastics,  or  "  movement- 
cure,"  as  applied  by  Dr.  Lewis,  Dr.  Taylor,  and  others. 

The  ordinary  gymnastic  apparatus  has  also  been  em- 
ployed extensively  by  women,  and  that  very  successfully, 
wherever  the  exercises  have  been  systematically  organ- 
ized, with  agreeable  classes  and  competent  teachers.  If 
the  gymnasium  often  fails  to  interest  girls  as  much  as 
boys,  it  is  probably  from  deficiency  in  these  respects,  — 
and  also  because  the  female  pupils,  beginning  on  a  lower 
plane  of  strength,  do  not  command  so  great  a  variety  of 
exercises,  and  so  tire  of  the  affair  more  readily.  But 
hundred?,  if  not  thousands,  of  American  women  have 
practised  in  these  institutions  during  the  last  ten  years, 
—  single  establishments  in  large  cities  having  sometimes 
several  hundred  pupils,  —  and  many  have  attained  a  high 
degree  of  skill  in  climbing,  vaulting,  swinging,  and  the 
like ;  nor  can  I  find  that  any  undue  proportion  of  acci- 
dents has  occurred.  Wherever  Dr.  Lewis's  methods  have 
been  introduced,  important  advantages  have  followed.  He 
has  invented  an  astonishing  variety  of  games  and  well- 
studied  movements,  —  with  the  lightest  and  cheapest  ap- 
paratus, balls,  bags,  rings,  wands,  wooden  dumb-bells, 
small  clubs,  and  other  instrumentalities,  —  which  are  all 
gracefully  and  effectually  used  by  his  classes,  to  the 
sound  of  music,  and  in  a  way  to  spare  the  weakest  when 
lightly  administered,  or  to  fatigue  the  strongest  when 


220  THE  HEALTH   OF  OUR   GIRLS. 

applied  in  force.  Being  adapted  for  united  use  by  both 
sexes,  they  make  more  thorough  appeal  to  the  social  ele- 
ment than  the  ordinary  gymnastics  ;  and  evening  classes, 
to  meet  several  evenings  in  a  week,  have  proved  exceed- 
ingly popular  in  some  of  our  towns.  These  exercises  do 
not  require  fixed  apparatus  or  a  special  hall.  For  this 
and  other  reasons  they  are  peculiarly  adapted  for  use  in 
schools,  and  it  would  be  well  if  they  could  be  regularly 
taught  in  our  normal  institutions.  Dr.  Lewis  himself  is 
now  training  regular  teachers  to  carry  on  the  same  good 
work,  and  his  movement  is  undoubtedly  the  most  impor- 
tant single  step  yet  taken  for  the  physical  education  of 
American  women. 

There  is  withal  a  variety  of  agreeable  minor  exercises, 
dating  back  farther  than  gymnastic  professors,  which  must 
not  be  omitted.  Archery,  still  in  fashion  in  England,  has 
never  fairly  taken  root  among  us,  and  seems  almost  hope- 
less :  the  clubs  formed  for  its  promotion  die  out  almost  as 
speedily  as  cricket-clubs,  and  leave  no  trace  behind ; 
though  tb»s  may  not  always  be.  Bowling  and  billiards 
are,  however,  practised  by  lady  amateurs,  just  so  far  as 
they  find  opportunity,  which  is  not  very  far ;  desirable 
public  or  private  facilities  being  obtainable  by  few  only, 
except  at  the  summer  watering-places.  Battledoor-and- 
shuttlecock  seems  likely  to  come  again  into  favor,  and 
that  under  eminent  auspices  :  Dr.  Windship  holding  it  in 
high  esteem,  as  occupying  the  mind  while  employing 
every  part  of  the  body,  harmonizing  the  muscular  sys- 
tem, giving  quickness  to  eye  and  hand,  and  improving 
the  balancing  power.  The  English,  who  systematize  all 
amusements  so  much  more  than  we,  have  developed  this 
simple  entertainment  into  several  different  games,  arduous 
and  complicated  as  their  games  of  ball.  The  mere  multi 


THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR    GIRLS.  221 

plication  of  the  missiles  also  lends  an  additional  stimulus, 
and  the  statistics  of  success  in  this  way  appear  almost 
fabulous.  A  zealous  English  battledoorean  informs  me 
that  the  highest  scores  yet  recorded  in  the  game  are  as 
follows :  five  thousand  strokes  for  a  single  shuttlecock, 
five  hundred  when  employing  two,  one  hundred  and  fifty 
with  three,  and  fifty-two  when  four  airy  messengers  are 
kept  flying  simultaneously. 

It  may  seem  trivial  to  urge  upon  rational  beings  the  use 
of  a  shuttlecock  as  a  duty  ;  but  this  is  surely  better  than 
that  one's  health  should  become  a  thing  as  perishable,  and 
fly  away  as  easily.  There  is  no  danger  that  our  educa- 
tional systems  will  soon  grow  too  careless  of  intellect  and 
too  careful  of  health.  Reforms,  whether  in  physiology  or 
in  smaller  things,  move  slowly,  when  prejudice  or  habit 
bars  the  way.  Paris  is  the  head-quarters  of  medical  sc: 
ence;  yet  in  Paris,  to  this  day,  the  poor  babies  in  the  great 
hospital  of  La  Maternite  are  so  tortured  in  tight  swathings 
that  not  a  limb  can  move.  Progress  is  not  in  proportion 
to  the  amount  of  scientific  knowledge  on  deposit  in  any 
country,  but  to  the  extent  of  its  diffusion.  No  nation  in 
the  world  grapples  with  its  own  evils  so  promptly  as  ours. 
It  is  but  a  few  years  since  there  was  a  general  croaking 
about  the  physical  deterioration  of  young  men  in  our 
cities,  —  and  now  already  the  cities  and  the  colleges  are 
beginning  to  lead  the  rural  districts  in  this  respect  The 
guaranty  of  reform  in  American  female  health  is  to  be 
found  in  the  growing  popular  conviction  that  reform  is 
needed.  The  community  is  tired  of  the  reproaches  of 
foreigners,  and  of  the  more  serious  evils  of  homes  deso- 
lated by  disease,  and  lives  turned  to  tragedies.  Morbid 
anatomy  has  long  enough  served  as  a  type  of  feminine 
loveliness ;  our  polite  society  has  long  enough  been  a 


222  THE  HEALTH  OF  OUR   GIRLS. 

series  of  soirees  of  incurables.  Health  is  coming  into 
fashion.  A  mercantile  parent  lately  told  me  that  already 
in  his  town,  if  a  girl  could  vault  a  five-barred  gate,  her 
prospects  for  a  husband  were  considered  to  be  improved 
ten  per  cent ;  and  every  one  knows  that  there  is  no  meter 
of  public  sentiment  so  infallible  as  the  stock-market.  Now 
that  the  country  is  becoming  safe,  we  must  again  turn  our 
attention  to  the  health  of  our  girls.  Unless  they  are 
healthy,  the  country  is  not  safe.  Nowhere  can  their 
physical  condition  be  so  important  as  in  a  republic.  The 
utmost  attention  was  paid  to  the  bodily  training  of  Victo- 
ria, because  she  was  to  be  a  queen  and  the  mother  of 
kings.  By  the  theory  of  our  government,  however  imper- 
fectly applied  as  yet,  this  is  the  precise  position  of  every 
American  girl.  Voltaire  said  that  the  fate  of  nations  had 
often  depended  on  the  gout  of  a  prime-minister  ;  and  the 
fate  of  our  institutions  may  hang  on  the  precise  tempera- 
ment which  our  next  President  shall  have  inherited  from 
his  mother. 


APRIL    DAYS. 


APRIL  DAYS. 


«•  Can  trouble  dwell  with  April  days?  " 

In  Memoriam. 


IN  our  methodical  New-England  life,  we  still  recognize 
some  magic  in  summer.  Most  persons  at  least  resign 
themselves  to  being  decently  happy  in  June.  They 
accept  June.  They  compliment  its  weather.  They 
complain  of  the  earlier  months  as  cold,  and  so  spend 
them  in  the  city  ;  and  they  complain  of  the  later  months 
as  hot,  and  so  refrigerate  themselves  on  some  barren  sea- 
coast.  God  offers  us  yearly  a  necklace  of  twelve  pearls  ; 
most  men  choose  the  fairest,  label  it  June,  and  cast  the 
rest  away.  It  is  time  to  chant  a  hymn  of  more  liberal 
gratitude. 

There  are  no  days  in  the  whole  round  year  more  deli- 
cious than  those  which  often  come  to  us  in  the  latter  half 
of  April.  On  these  days  one  goes  forth  in  the  morning, 
and  finds  an  Italian  warmth  brooding  over  all  the  hills, 
taking  visible  shape  in  a  glistening  mist  of  silvered  azure, 
with  which  mingles  the  smoke  from  many  bonfires.  The 
sun  trembles  in  his  own  soft  rays,  till  one  understands 
the  old  English  tradition,  that  he  dances  on  Easter-Day. 
Swimming  in  a  sea  of  glory,  the  tops  of  the  hills  look 
nearer  than  their  bases,  and  their  glistening  watercourses 
seem  close  to  the  eye,  as  is  their  liberated  murmu*  w  the 
10*  o 


226  APRIL  DAYS. 

ear.  All  across  this  broad  intervale  the  teams  are  plough- 
ing. The  grass  in  the  meadow  seems  all  to  have  grown 
green  since  yesterday.  The  blackbirds  jangle  in  the  oak, 
the  robin  is  perched  upon  the  elm,  the  song-sparrow  on 
the  hazel,  and  the  bluebird  on  the  apple-tree.  There 
rises  a  hawk  and  sails  slowly,  the  stateliest  of  airy  things, 
a  floating  dream  of  long  and  languid  summer-hours. 
But  as  yet,  though  there  is  warmth  enough  for  a  sense 
of  luxury,  there  is  coolness  enough  for  exertion.  No 
tropics  can  offer  such  a  burst  of  joy  ;  indeed,  no  zone 
much  warmer  than  our  Northern  States  can  offer  a 
genuine  spring.  There  can  be  none  where  there  is  no 
winter,  and  the  monotone  of  the  seasons  is  broken  only 
by  wearisome  rains.  Vegetation  and  birds  being  dis- 
tributed over  the  year,  there  is  no  burst  of  verdure  nor 
of  song.  But  with  us,  as  the  buds  are  swelling,  the 
birds  are  arriving ;  they  are  building  their  nests  almost 
simultaneously  ;  and  in  all  the  Southern  year  there  is  no 
such  rapture  of  beauty  and  of  melody  as  here  marks 
every  morning  from  the  last  of  April  onward. 

But  days  even  earlier  than  these  in  April  have  a 
charm,  —  even  days  that  seem  raw  and  rainy,  when  the 
sky  is  dull  and  a  bequest  of  March-wind  lingers,  chasing 
the  squirrel  from  the  tree  and  the  children  from  the 
meadows.  There  is  a  fascination  in  walking  through 
these  bare  early  woods,  —  there  is  such  a  pause  of  prep- 
aration, winter's  work  is  so  cleanly  and  thoroughly  done. 
Everything  is  taken  down  and  put  away  ;  throughout  the 
leafy  arcades  the  branches  show  no  remnant  of  last  year, 
save  a  few  twisted  leaves  of  oak  and  beech,  a  few  empty 
seed-vessels  of  the  tardy  witch-hazel,  and  a  few  gnawed 
nutshells  dropped  coquettishly  by  the  squirrels  into  the 
crevices  of  the  bark.  All  else  is  bare,  but  prophetic : 


APRIL  DAYS.  227 

buds  everywhere,  the  whole  splendor  of  the  coming  sum- 
mer concentrated  in  those  hard  little  knobs  on  every 
bough ;  and  clinging  here  and  there  among  them,  a 
brown,  papery  chrysalis,  from  which  shall  yet  wave  the 
superb  wings  of  the  Luna  moth.  An  occasional  shower 
patters  on  the  dry  leaves,  but  it  does  not  silence  the  robin 
on  the  outskirts  of  the  wood:  indeed,  he  sings  louder 
than  ever  during  rain,  though  the  song-sparrow  and  the 
bluebird  are  silent. 

Then  comes  the  sweetness  of  the  nights  in  latter  April 
There  is  as  yet  no  evening-primrose  to  open  suddenly,  no 
cistus  to  drop  its  petals ;  but  the  May-flower  knows  the 
hour,  and  becomes  more  fragrant  in  the  darkness,  so  that 
one  can  then  often  find  it  in  the  woods  without  aid  from 
the  eye.  The  pleasant  night-sounds  are  begun ;  the 
hylas  are  uttering  their  shrill  peep  from  the  meadows, 
mingled  soon  with  hoarser  toads,  who  take  to  the  water 
at  this  season  to  deposit  their  spawn.  The  tree-toads 
soon  join  them ;  but  one  listens  in  vain  for  bullfrogs,  or 
katydids,  or  grasshoppers,  or  whippoorwills,  or  crickets : 
we  must  wait  for  most  of  these  until  the  delicious  June. 

The  earliest  familiar  token  of  the  coming  season  is  the 
expansion  of  the  stiff  catkins  of  the  alder  into  soft,  droop- 
ing tresses.  These  are  so  sensitive,  that,  if  you  pluck 
them  at  almost  any  time  during  the  winter,  a  few  days' 
sunshine  will  make  them  open  in  a  vase  of  water,  and 
thus  they  eagerly  yield  to  every  moment  of  April  warmth. 
The  blossom  of  the  birch  is  more  delicate,  that  of  the 
willow  more  showy,  but  the  alders  come  first.  They 
cluster  and  dance  everywhere  upon  the  bare  boughs 
above  the  watercourses ;  the  blackness  of  the  buds  is 
softened  into  rich  brown  and  yellow  ;  and  as  this  graceful 
creature  thus  comes  waving  into  the  spring,  it  is  pleasant 


228  APRIL  DAYS. 

to  remember  that  the  Norse  Eddas  fabled  the  first  woman 
to  have  been  named  Embla,  because  she  was  created 
from  an  alder-bough. 

The  first  wild-flower  of  the  spring  is  like  land  after 
sea.  The  two  which,  throughout  the  Northern  Atlantic 
States,  divide  this  interest,  are  the  Epigcea  repens  (May- 
flower, ground-laurel,  or  trailing-arbutus)  and  the  Hepa- 
tica  triloba  (liverleaf,  liverwort,  or  blue  anemone).  Of 
these  two,  the  latter  is  perhaps  more  immediately  exciting 
on  first  discovery ;  because  it  is  an  annual,  not  a  perennial, 
—  does  not,  like  the  epigaea,  exhibit  its  buds  all  winter,  but 
opens  its  blue  eyes  almost  as  soon  as  it  emerges  from  the 
ground.  Without  the  rich  and  delicious  odor  of  its  com- 
peer, it  has  an  inexpressibly  fresh  and  earthy  scent,  that 
seems  to  bring  all  the  promise  of  the  blessed  season  with 
it ;  indeed,  that  clod  of  fresh  turf  with  the  inhalation  of 
which  Lord  Bacon  delighted  to  begin  the  day  must  un- 
doubtedly have  been  full  of  the  roots  of  our  little  hepatica. 
Its  healthy  sweetness  belongs  to  the  opening  year,  like 
Chaucer's  poetry ;  and  one  thinks  that  anything  more 
potent  and  voluptuous  would  be  less  enchanting  —  until 
one  turns  to  the  May-flower.  Then  comes  a  richer  fas- 
cination for  the  senses.  To  pick  the  May-flower  is  like 
following  in  the  footsteps  of  some  spendthrift  army  which 
has  scattered  the  contents  of  its  treasure-chest  among 
beds  of  scented  moss.  The  fingers  sink  in  the  soft, 
moist  verdure,  and  make  at  each  instant  some  superb  dis- 
covery unawares  ;  again  and  again,  straying  carelessly, 
they  clutch  some  new  treasure  ;  and,  indeed,  all  is  linked 
together  in  bright  necklaces  by  secret  threads  beneath  the 
surface,  and  where  you  grasp  at  one,  you  hold  many. 
The  hands  go  wandering  over  the  moss  as  over  the  keys 
of  a  piano,  and  bring  forth  odors  for  melodies.  The 


APRIL  DAYS.  229 

lovely  creatures  twine  and  nestle  and  lay  their  glowing 
faces  to  the  very  earth  beneath  withered  leaves,  and 
what  seemed  mere  barrenness  becomes  fresh  and  fragrant 
beauty.  So  great  is  the  charm  of  the  pursuit,  that  the 
epigaea  is  really  the  wild-flower  for  which  our  country- 
people  have  a  hearty  passion.  Every  village  child  knows 
its  best  haunts,  and  watches  for  it  eagerly  in  the  spring ; 
boys  wreathe  their  hats  with  it,  girls  twine  it  in  their 
hair,  and  the  cottage-windows  are  filled  with  its  beauty. 

In  collecting  these  early  flowers,  one  finds  or  fancies 
singular  natural  affinities.  I  flatter  myself  with  being 
able  always  to  discover  hepatica,  if  there  is  any  within 
reach,  for  I  was  brought  up  with  it  ("  Cockatoo  he  know 
me  very  well ")  ;  but  other  person*,  who  were  brought  up 
with  May-flower,  and  remember  searching  for  it  with  their 
almost  baby-fingers,  can  find  that  better.  The  most  re- 
markable instance  of  these  natural  affinities  was  in  the 
case  of  L.  T.  and  his  double  anemones.  L.  had  always  a 
gift  for  wild-flowers,  and  used  often  to  bring  to  Cambridge 
the  largest  white  anemones  that  ever  were  seen,  from  a 
certain  special  hill  in  Watertown ;  they  were  not  only 
magnificent  in  size  and  whiteness,  but  had  that  exquisite 
blue  on  the  outside  of  the  petals,  as  if  the  sky  had  bent 
down  in  ecstasy  at  last  over  its  darlings,  and  left  visible 
kisses  there.  But  even  this  success  was  not  enough,  and 
one  day  he  came  with  something  yet  choicer.  It  was  a 
rue-leaved  anemone  {A.  thalictroides)  ;  and,  if  you  will 
believe  it,  each  one  of  the  three  white  flowers  was  double, 
not  merely  with  that  multiplicity  of  petals  in  the  disk 
which  is  common  with  this  species,  but  technically  and 
horticulturally  double,  like  the  double-flowering  almond 
or  cherry,  —  with  the  most  exquisitely  delicate  little 
petals,  like  fairy  lace-work.  He  had  three  specimens,  — 


230  APRIL  DAYS. 

gave  one  to  the  Autocrat  of  Botany,  who  said  it  was  al- 
most or  quite  unexampled,  and  another  to  me.  As  the 
man  in  the  fable  says  of  the  chameleon,  —  "I  have  it  yet, 
and  can  produce  it." 

Now  comes  the  marvel.  The  next  winter  L.  went  to 
New  York  for  a  year,  and  wrote  to  me,  as  spring  drew 
near,  with  solemn  charge  to  visit  his  favorite  haunt  and 
find  another  specimen.  Armed  with  this  letter  of  intro- 
duction, I  sought  the  spot,  and  tramped  through  and 
through  its  leafy  corridors.  Beautiful  wood-anemones  I 
found,  to  be  sure,  trembling  on  their  fragile  stems,  deserv- 
ing all  their  pretty  names,  —  Wind-flower,  Easter-flower, 
Pasque-flower,  and  homoeopathic  Pulsatilla ;  rue-leaved 
anemones  I  found  also,  rising  taller  and  straighter  and 
firmer  in  stem,  with  the  whorl  of  leaves  a  little  higher  up 
on  the  stalk  than  one  fancies  it  ought  to  be,  as  if  there 
were  a  supposed  danger  that  the  flowers  would  lose  their 
balance,  and  as  if  the  leaves  must  be  all  ready  to  catch 
them.  These  I  found,  but  the  special  wonder  was  not 
there  for  me.  Then  I  wrote  to  L.  that  he  must  evidently 
come  himself  and  search ;  or  that,  perhaps,  as  Sir  Thomas 
Browne  avers  that  "  smoke  doth  follow  the  fairest,"  so  his 
little  treasures  had  followed  him  towards  New  York. 
Judge  of  my  surprise,  when,  on  opening  his  next  letter, 
out  dropped,  from  those  folds  of  metropolitan  paper,  a 
veritable  double  anemone.  He  had  just  been  out  to 
Hoboken,  or  some  such  place,  to  spend  an  afternoon,  and, 
of  course,  his  pets  were  there  to  meet  him  ;  and  from  that 
day  to  this,  I  have  never  heard  of  the  thing  happening  to 
any  one  else. 

May-Day  is  never  allo-.ved  to  pass  in  this  community 
without  profuse  lamentations  over  the  tardiness  of  our 
spring  as  compared  with  that  of  England  and  the  poets. 


APRIL  DAYS.  231 

Yet  it  is  easy  to  exaggerate  this  difference.  Even  so 
good  an  observer  as  Wilson  Flagg  is  betrayed  into  saying 
that  the  epigaea  and  hepatica  "  seldom  make  their  appear- 
ance until  after  the  middle  of  April "  in  Massachusetts, 
and  that  "  it  is  not  unusual  for  the  whole  month  of  April 
to  pass  away  without  producing  more  than  two  or  three 
species  of  wild-flowers."  But  I  have  formerly  found  the 
hepatica  in  bloom  at  Mount  Auburn,  for  three  successive 
years,  on  the  twenty-seventh  of  March ;  and  it  has  since 
been  found  in  Worcester  on  the  seventeenth,  and  in  Dan- 
vers  on  the  twelfth.  The  May-flower  is  usually  as  early, 
though  the  more  gradual  expansion  of  the  buds  renders  it 
less  easy  to  give  dates.  And  there  are  nearly  twenty 
species  which  I  have  noted,  for  five  or  six  years  together, 
as  found  always  before  May-Day,  and  which  may  there- 
fore be  properly  assigned  to  April.  The  list  includes 
bloodroot,  cowslip,  houstonia,  saxifrage,  dandelion,  chick- 
weed,  cinquefoil,  strawberry,  mouse-ear,  bellwort,  dog's- 
tooth  violet,  five  species  of  violet  proper,  and  two  of 
anemone.  These  are  all  common  flowers,  and  easily  ob- 
served ;  and  the  catalogue  might  be  increased  by  rare 
ones,  as  the  white  corydalis,  the  smaller  yellow  violet 
(V.  rotundifolia),  and  the  claytonia  or  spring-beauty. 

But  in  England  the  crocus  and  the  snowdrop  —  neither 
being  probably  an  indigenous  flower,  since  neither  is  men- 
tioned by  Chaucer  —  usually  open  before  the  first  of 
March  ;  indeed,  the  snowdrop  was  formerly  known  by  the 
yet  more  fanciful  name  of  "  Fair  Maid  of  February." 
Chaucer's  daisy  comes  equally  early ;  and  March  brings 
daffodils,  narcissi,  violets,  daisies,  jonquils,  hyacinths,  and 
marsh-marigolds.  This  is  altogether  in  advance  of  our 
season,  so  far  as  the  wild-flowers  give  evidence,  —  though 
snowdrops  are  sometimes  found  in  February  even  here. 


232  APRIL  DAYS. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  would  appear  that,  though  a 
larger  number  of  birds  winter  in  England  than  in  Massa- 
chusetts, yet  the  return  of  those  which  migrate  is  actually 
earlier  among  us.  From  journals  kept  during  sixty  years 
in  England,  and  an  abstract  of  which  is  printed  in  Hone's 
"  Every-Day  Book,"  it  appears  that  only  two  birds  of 
passage  revisit  England  before  the  fifteenth  of  April,  and 
only  thirteen  more  before  the  first  of  May ;  while  with 
us  the  song-sparrow,  the  blue-bird,  and  the  red-wing  ap- 
pear about  the  first  of  March,  and  quite  a  number  more 
by  the  middle  of  April.  This  is  a  peculiarity  of  the 
English  spring  which  I  have  never  seen  explained  or 
even  mentioned. 

After  the  epigaea  and  the  hepatica  have  opened,  there 
is  a  slight  pause  among  the  wild-flowers,  —  these  two 
forming  a  distinct  prologue  for  their  annual  drama,  as  the 
brilliant  witch-hazel  in  October  brings  up  its  separate 
epilogue.  The  truth  is,  Nature  attitudinizes  a  little, 
liking  to  make  a  neat  finish  with  everything,  and  then 
to  begin  again  with  eclat.  Flowers  seem  spontaneous 
things  enough,  but  there  is  evidently  a  secret  marshalling 
among  them,  that  all  may  be  brought  out  with  due  effect. 
As  the  country-people  say  that  so  long  as  any  snow  is 
left  on  the  ground  more  snow  may  be  expected,  it  must 
all  vanish  simultaneously  at  last, —  so  every  seeker  of 
spring-flowers  has  observed  how  accurately  they  seem  to 
move  in  platoons,  with  little  straggling.  Each  species 
seems  to  burst  upon  us  with  a  united  impulse ;  you  may 
search  for  them  day  after  day  in  vain,  but  the  day  when 
you  find  one  specimen  the  spell  is  broken  and  you  find 
twenty.  By  the  end  of  April  all  the  margins  of  the  great 
poem  of  the  woods  are  illuminated  with  these  exquisite 
vignettes. 


APRIL  DAYS.  233 

Most  of  the  early  flowers  either  come  before  the  full 
unfolding  of  their  leaves,  or  else  have  inconspicuous  ones. 
Yet  Nature  always  provides  for  her  bouquets  the  due 
proportion  of  green.  The  verdant  and  graceful  sprays  of 
the  wild  raspberry  are  unfolded  very  early,  long  before 
its  time  of  flowering.  Over  the  meadows  spread  the 
regular  Chinese-pagodas  of  the  equisetum  (horsetail  or 
scouring-rush),  and  the  rich  coarse  vegetation  of  the 
veratrum,  or  American  hellebore.  In  moist  copses  the 
ferns  and  osmundas  begin  to  uncurl  in  April,  opening 
their  soft  coils  of  spongy  verdure,  coated  with  woolly 
down,  from  which  the  humming-bird  steals  the  lining 
of  her  nest. 

The  early  blossoms  represent  the  aboriginal  epoch  of 
our  history  :  the  bloodroot  and  the  May-flower  are  older 
ihan  the  white  man,  older  perchance  than  the  red  man  ; 
they  alone  are  the  true  Native  Americans.  Of  the  later 
wild  plants,  many  of  the  most  common  are  foreign  impor- 
tations. In  our  sycophancy  we  attach  grandeur  to  the 
name  exotic :  we  call  aristocratic  garden-flowers  by  that 
epithet ;  yet  they  are  no  more  exotic  than  the  humbler 
companions  they  brought  with  them,  which  have  become 
naturalized.  The  dandelion,  the  buttercup,  chickweed, 
celandine,  mullein,  burdock,  yarrow,  whiteweed,  night- 
shade, and  most  of  the  thistles,  —  these  are  importations. 
Miles  Standish  never  crushed  these  with  his  heavy  heel 
as  he  strode  forth  to  give  battle  to  the  savages  ;  they 
never  kissed  the  daintier  foot  of  Priscilla,  the  Puritan 
maiden.  It  is  noticeable  that  these  are  all  of  rather 
coarser  texture  than  our  indigenous  flowers  ;  the  children 
instinctively  recognize  this,  and  are  apt  to  omit  them, 
when  gathering  the  more  delicate  native  blossoms  of  the 
wo^ds. 


234  APRIL  DAYS. 

There  is  something  touching  in  the  gradual  retirement 
oefore  civilization  of  these  fragile  aborigines.  They  do 
not  wait  for  the  actual  brute  contact  of  red  bricks  and 
curbstones,  but  they  feel  the  danger  miles  away.  The 
Indians  called  the  low  plantain  "  the  white  man's  foot- 
step " ;  and  these  shy  creatures  gradually  disappear,  the 
moment  the  red  man  gets  beyond  their  hearing.  Bigc- 
low's  delightful  "  Florula  Bostoniensis "  is  becoming  a 
series  of  epitaphs.  Too  well  we  know  it,  —  those  of  us 
who  in  happy  Cambridge  childhood  often  gathered,  almost 
within. a  stone's  throw  of  Professor  Agassiz*s  new  Museum, 
the  arethusa  and  the  gentian,  the  cardinal-flower  and  the 
gaudy  rhexia,  —  we  who  remember  the  last  secret  hiding- 
place  of  the  rhodora  in  West  Cambridge,  of  the  yellow 
violet  and  the  Viola  debilis  in  Watertown,  of  the  Conval- 
laria  trifolia  near  Fresh  Pond,  of  the  Hottonia  beyond 
Wellington's  Hill,  of  the  Cornus  florida  in  West  Rox- 
bury,  of  the  Clintonia  and  the  dwarf  ginseng  in  Brook- 
line,  —  we  who  have  found  in  its  one  chosen  nook  the 
sacred  Andromeda  polyfolia  of  Linnaeus.  Now  vanished 
almost  or  wholly  from  city  suburbs,  these  fragile  creatures 
still  linger  in  more  rural  parts  of  Massachusetts ;  but  they 
are  doomed  everywhere,  unconsciously,  yet  irresistibly ; 
while  others  still  more  shy,  as  the  Linncea,  the  yellow 
Oypripedium,  the  early  pink  Azalea,  and  the  delicate 
white  Corydalis  or  "  Dutchman's  breeches,"  are  being 
chased  into  the  very  recesses  of  the  Green  and  the  White 
Mountains.  The  relics  of  the  Indian  tribes  are  supported 
by  the  Legislature  at  Martha's  Vineyard,  while  these  pre- 
cursors of  the  Indian  are  dying  unfriended  away. 

And  with  these  receding  plants  go  also  the  special 
insects  which  haunt  them.  Who  that  knew  that  pure 
enthusiast,  Dr.  Harris,  but  remembers  the  accustomed 


APRIL  DAYS.  235 

lamentations  of  the  entomologist  over  the  departure  of 
these  winged  companions  of  his  lifetime?  Not  the  benev- 
olent Mr.  John  Beeson  more  tenderly  mourns  the  decay 
of  the  Indians,  than  he  the  exodus  of  these  more  delicate 
native  tribes.  In  a  letter  which  I  happened  to  receive 
from  him  a  short  time  previous  to  his  death,  he  thus 
renewed  the  lament :  "  I  mourn  for  the  loss  of  many  of 
the  beautiful  plants  and  insects  that  were  once  found  in 
this  vicinity.  Clethra,  JRhodora,  Sanguinaria,  Viola  de- 
bilis,  Viola  acuta,  Dracaena  borealis,  Rhexia,  Cypripe- 
dium,  CoraUorhiza  verna,  Orchis  spectabilis,  with  others 
of  less  note,  have  been  rooted  out  by  the  so-called  hand 
of  improvement.  Oicindela  rugifrons,  Helluo  prceusta, 
Sphceroderus  stenostomus,  Blethisa  quadricollis  (Ameri- 
cana mi),  Carabus,  Horia  (which  for  several  years 
occurred  in  profusion  on  the  sands  beyond  Mount  Au- 
burn), with  others,  have  entirely  disappeared  from  their 
former  haunts,  driven  away,  or  exterminated  perhaps,  by 
the  changes  effected  therein.  There  may  still  remain  in 
your  vicinity  some  sequestered  spots,  congenial  to  these 
and  other  rarities,  which  may  reward  the  botanist  and  the 
entomologist  who  will  search  them  carefully.  Perhaps 
you  may  find  there  the  pretty  coccinella-shaped,  silver- 
margined  Omophron,  or  the  still  rarer  Panagceus  fascia- 
tits,  of  which  I  once  took  two  specimens  on  Wellington's 
Hill,  but  have  not  seen  it  since."  Is  not  this  indeed 
handling  one's  specimens  "  gently  as  if  you  loved  them," 
as  Isaak  Walton  bids  the  angler  do  with  his  worm  ? 

There  is  this  merit,  at  least,  among  the  coarser  crew  of 
imported  flowers,  that  they  bring  their  own  proper  names 
with  them,  and  we  know  precisely  with  whom  we  have  to 
deal.  In  speaking  of  our  own  native  flowers,  we  must 
either  be  careless  and  inaccurate,  or  else  resort  sometime? 


236  APRIL  DAYS. 

to  the  Latin,  in  spite  of  the  indignation  of  friends.  There 
is  something  yet  to  be  said  on  this  point  In  England, 
where  the  old  household  and  monkish  names  adhere,  they 
are  sufficient  for  popular  and  poetic  purposes,  and  the 
familiar  use  of  scientific  names  seems  an  affectation.  But 
here,  where  many  native  flowers  have  no  popular  names 
at  all,  and  others  are  called  confessedly  by  wrong  ones, — 
where  it  really  costs  less  trouble  to  use  Latin  names  than 
English, — the  affectation  seems  the  other  way.  Think  of 
the  long  list  of  wild-flowers  where  the  Latin  name  is  spon- 
taneously used  by  all  who  speak  of  the  flower :  as,  Are- 
thusa,  Aster,  Cistus  ("  after  the  fall  of  the  cistus-flower  "), 
Clematis,  Clethra,  Geranium,  Iris,  Lobelia,  Rhodora, 
Spiraea,  Tiarella,  Trientalis,  and  so  on.  Even  those 
formed  from  proper  names  (the  worst  possible  system 
of  nomenclature)  become  tolerable  at  last,  and  we  forget 
the  godfather  in  the  more  attractive  namesake.  Are 
those  who  pick  the  Houstonia  to  be  supposed  thereby  to 
indorse  the  Texan  President  ?  Or  are  the  deluded 
damsels  who  chew  Cassia-buds  to  be  regarded  as  swal- 
lowing the  late  Secretary  of  State?  The  names  have 
long  since  been  made  over  to  the  flowers,  and  every 
questionable  aroma  has  vanished.  When  the  person  con- 
cerned happens  to  be  a  botanist,  there  is  a  peculiar  fitness 
in  the  association ;  the  Linnaea,  at  least,  would  not  smell 
so  sweet  by  any  other  name. 

In  other  cases  the  English  name  is  a  mere  modification 
of  the  Latin  one,  and  our  ideal  associations  have  really  a 
scientific  basis:  as  with  Violet,  Lily,  Laurel,  Gentian, 
Vervain.  Indeed,  our  enthusiasm  for  vernacular  names 
is  like  that  for  Indian  names  of  localities,  one-sided  :  we 
enumerate  only  the  graceful  ones,  and  ignore  the  rest. 
It  would  be  a  pity  to  Latinize  Touch-me-not,  or  Yarrow, 


4.PRIL  DAYS.  237 

or  Gold-Thread,  or  Self-Heal,  or  Columbine,  or  Blue- 
Eyed- Grass,  —  though,  to  be  sure,  this  last  has  an  annoy- 
ing way  of  shutting  up  its  azure  orbs  the  moment  you 
gather  it,  and  you  reach  home  with  a  bare,  stiff  blade, 
which  deserves  no  better  name  than  Sisyrinchium  anceps. 
But  in  what  respect  is  Cucumber-Root  preferable  to 
Medeola,  or  Solomon's-Seal  to  Convallaria,  or  Rock- 
Tripe  to  Umbilicaria,  or  Lousewort  to  Pedicularis  ?  In 
other  cases  the  merit  is  divided :  Anemone  may  dispute 
the  prize  of  melody  with  Windflower,  Campanula  with 
Harebell,  Neottia  with  Ladies'-Tresses,  Uvularia  with 
Bellwort  and  Strawbell,  Potentilla  with  Cinquefoil,  and 
Sanguinaria  with  Bloodroot.  Hepatica  may  be  bad,  but 
Liverleaf  is  worse.  The  pretty  name  of  May-flower  is 
not  so  popular,  after  all,  as  that  of  Trailing-Arbutus, 
where  the  graceful  and  appropriate  adjective  redeems  the 
substantive,  which  happens  to  be  Latin  and  incorrect  at 
the  same  time.  It  does  seem  a  waste  of  time  to  say  Chrys- 
anthemum kucanthemum  instead  of  Whiteweed  ;  though, 
if  the  long  scientific  name  were  an  incantation  to  banish 
the  intruder,  our  farmers  would  gladly  consent  to  adopt  it. 
But  the  great  advantage  of  a  reasonable  use  of  the 
botanical  name  is,  that  it  does  not  deceive  us.  Our  prim- 
rose is  not  the  English  primrose,  any  more  than  it  was 
our  robin  who  tucked  up  the  babes  in  the  wood ;  our 
cowslip  is  not  the  English  cowslip,  it  is  the  English 
marsh-marigold,  —  Tennyson's  marsh-marigold.  The 
pretty  name  of  Azalea  means  something  definite ;  but 
its  rural  name  of  Honeysuckle  confounds  under  that 
name  flowers  without  even  an  external  resemblance, — 
Azalea,  Diervilla,  Lonicera,  Aquilegia, — just  as  every 
bird  which  sings  loud  in  deep  woods  is  popularly  denom- 
inated a  thrush.  The  really  rustic  names  of  both  plants 


238  APRIL  DAYS. 

and  animals  are  very  few  with  us,  —  the  different  species 
are  many;  and  as  we  come  to  know  them  better  and 
love  them  more,  we  absolutely  require  some  way  to  dis- 
tinguish them  from  their  half-sisters  and  second-cousins. 
It  is  hopeless  to  try  to  create  new  popular  epithets,  or 
even  to  revive  those  which  are  thoroughly  obsolete. 
Miss  Cooper  may  strive  in  vain,  with  benevolent  intent, 
to  christen  her  favorite  spring  blossoms  "  May- Wings  " 
and  "  Gay- Wings,"  and  "  Fringe-Cup  "  and  "  Squirrel- 
Cup,"  and  "  Cool- Wort "  and  "  Bead-Ruby  "  ;  there  is 
no  conceivable  reason  why  these  should  not  be  the  fa- 
miliar appellations,  except  the  irresistible  fact  that  they 
are  not.  It  is  impossible  to  create  a  popular  name  :  one 
might  as  well  attempt  to  invent  a  legend  or  compose  a 
ballad.  Nascitur,  non  jit. 

As  the  spring  comes  on,  and  the  densening  outlines  of 
the  elm  give  daily  a  new  design  for  a  Grecian  urn,  —  its 
hue  first  brown  with  blossoms,  then  emerald  with  leaves, 

—  we  appreciate  the  vanishing  beauty  of  the  bare  boughs. 
In  our  favored  temperate  zone,  the  trees  denude  them- 
selves each  year,  like  the  goddesses  before  Paris,  that  we 
may  see  which  unadorned  loveliness  is  the  fairest.     Only 
the  unconquerable  delicacy  of  the  beech  still  keeps  its 
soft  vestments  about  it :  far  into  spring,  when  worn  to 
thin  rags  and  tatters,  they  cling  there  still ;  and  when 
they  fall,  the  new  appear  as  by  magic.    It  must  be  owned, 
however,  that  the  beech  has  good  reasons  for  this  prudish- 
ness,  and  possesses  little  beauty  of  figure  ;  while  the  elms, 
maples,  chestnuts,  walnuts,  and  even  oaks,  have  not  ex- 
hausted all  their  store  of  charms  for  us,  until  we  have 
seen  them  disrobed.     Only  yonder  magnificent  pine-tree, 

—  that  pitch-pine,  nobler  when  seen  in  perfection  than 
white-pine,  or    Norwegian,  or    Norfolk-Islander,  —  that 


APRIL  DAYS.  239 

pitch-pine,  herself  a  grove,  una  nemus,  holds  her  un- 
changing beauty  throughout  the  year,  like  her  half- 
brother,  the  ocean,  whose  voice  she  shares ;  and  only 
marks  the  flowing  of  her  annual  tide  of  life  by  the  new 
verdure  that  yearly  submerges  all  trace  of  last  year's 
ebb. 

How  many  lessons  of  faith  and  beauty  we  should  lose 
if  there  were  no  winter  in  our  year !  Sometimes  in  fol- 
lowing up  a  watercourse  among  our  hills,  in  the  early 
spring,  one  comes  to  a  weird  and  desolate  place,  where 
one  huge  wild  grape-vine  has  wreathed  its  ragged  arms 
around  a  whole  thicket  and  brought  it  to  the  ground,  — 
swarming  to  the  tops  of  hemlocks,  clenching  a  dozen 
young  maples  at  once  and  tugging  them  downward, 
stretching  its  wizard  black  length  across  the  underbrush, 
into  the  earth  and  out  again,  wrenching  up  great  stones 
in  its  blind,  aimless  struggle.  What  a  piece  of  chaos  is 
this  !  Yet  come  here  again,  two  months  hence,  and  you 
shall  find  all  this  desolation  clothed  with  beauty  and  with 
fragrance,  one  vast  bower  of  soft  green  leaves  and  grace- 
ful tendrils,  while  summer  birds  chirp  and  flutter  amid 
these  sunny  arches  all  the  livelong  day. 

To  the  end  of  April,  and  often  later,  one  still  finds 
remains  of  snow-banks  in  sheltered  woods,  especially 
among  evergreens ;  and  this  snow,  like  that  upon  high 
mountains,  has  often  become  hardened  by  the  repeated 
thawing  and  freezing  of  the  surface,  till  it  is  more  impen- 
etrable than  ice.  But  the  snow  that  falls  during  April 
is  usually  what  Vermonters  call  "  sugar-snow,"  —  falling 
in  the  night  and  just  whitening  the  surface  for  an  hour 
or  two,  and  taking  its  name,  not  so  much  from  its  looks 
as  from  the  fact  that  it  denotes  the  proper  weather  for 
"sugaring,"  namely,  cold  nights  and  warm  days.  Our 


240  APRIL  DAYS. 

saccharine  associations,  however,  remain  so  obstinately 
tropical,  that  it  seems  almost  impossible  for  the  imagina- 
tion to  locate  sugar  in  New-England  trees ;  though  it  is 
known  that  not  the  maple  only,  but  the  birch  and  the 
walnut  even,  afford  it  in  appreciable  quantities. 

Along  our  maritime  rivers  the  people  associate  April, 
not  with  "  sugaring,"  but  with  "  shadding."  The  pretty 
Amelanchier  Canadensis  of  Gray  —  the  Aronia  of  Whit- 
tier's  song  —  is  called  Shad-bush  or  Shad-blow  in  Essex 
County,  from  its  connection  with  this  season  ;  and  there 
is  a  bird  known  as  the  Shad-spirit,  which  I  take  to  be 
identical  with  the  flicker  or  golden-winged  woodpecker, 
whose  note  is  still  held  to  indicate  the  first  day  when  the 
fish  ascend  the  river.  Upon  such  slender  wings  flits  our 
New-England  romance ! 

In  April  the  creative  process  described  by  Thales  is 
repeated,  and  the  world  is  renewed  by  water.  The  sub- 
merged creatures  first  feel  the  touch  of  spring,  and  many 
an  equivocal  career,  beginning  in  the  ponds  and  brooks, 
learns  later  to  ignore  this  obscure  beginning,  and  hops  or 
flutters  in  the  dusty  daylight.  Early  in  March,  before 
the  first  male  canker-moth  appears  on  the  elm-tree,  the 
whirlwig  beetles  have  begun  to  play  round  the  broken 
edges  of  the  ice,  and  the  caddis-worms  to  crawl  beneath 
it ;  and  soon  come  the  water-skater  ( Gerris)  and  the 
water-boatman  (Notonecta).  Turtles  and  newts  are  in 
busy  motion  when  the  spring-birds  are  only  just  arriving. 
Those  gelatinous  masses  in  yonder  wayside  pond  are  the 
spawn  of  water-newts  or  tritons  :  in  the  clear  transparent 
jelly  are  imbedded,  at  regular  intervals,  little  blackish 
dots  ;  these  elongate  rapidly,  and  show  symptoms  of  head 
and  tail  curled  up  in  a  spherical  cell ;  the  jelly  is  grad- 
ually absorbed  for  their  nourishment,  until  on  some  fine 


APRIL   DAYS.  241 

morning  each  elongated  dot  gives  one  vigorous  wriggle, 
and  claims  thenceforward  all  the  privileges  attendant  on 
thi?  dissolution  of  the  union.  The  final  privilege  is  often 
that  of  being  suddenly  snapped  up  by  a  turtle  or  a  snake : 
for  Nature  brings  forth  her  creatures  liberally,  especially 
the  aquatic  ones,  sacrifices  nine  tenths  of  them  as  food 
for  their  larger  cousins,  and  reserves  only  a  handful  to 
propagate  their  race,  on  the  same  profuse  scale,  next 


It  is  surprising,  in  the  midst  of  our  Museums  and 
Scientific  Schools,  how  little  we  yet  know  of  the  common 
things  around  us.  Our  savans  still  confess  their  inability 
to  discriminate  with  certainty  the  egg  or  tadpole  of  a  frog 
from  that  of  a  toad  ;  and  it  is  strange  that  these  hopping 
creatures,  which  seem  so  unlike,  should  coincide  so  nearly 
in  their  juvenile  career,  while  the  tritons  and  salaman- 
ders, which  border  so  closely  on  each  other  in  their 
maturer  state  as  sometimes  to  be  hardly  distinguishable, 
yet  choose  .different  methods  and  different  elements  for 
laying  their  eggs.  The  eggs  of  our  salamanders  or  land- 
lizards  are  deposited  beneath  the  moss  on  some  damp 
rock,  without  any  gelatinous  envelope  ;  they  are  but  few 
in  number,  and  the  anxious  mamma  may  sometimes  be 
found  coiled  in  a  circle  around  them,  like  the  symbolic 
serpent  of  eternity. 

The  small  number  of  birds  yet  present  in  early  April 
gives  a  better  opportunity  for  careful  study,  —  more  espe- 
cially if  one  goes  armed  with  that  best  of  fowling-pieces, 
a  small  spy-glass :  the  best,  —  since  how  valueless  for 
purposes  of  observation  is  the  bleeding,  gasping,  dying 
body,  compared  with  the  fresh  and  living  creature,  as  it 
tilts,  trembles,  and  warbles  on  the  bough  before  you ! 
Observe  that  robin  in  the  oak-tree's  top :  as  he  sits  and 
11  p 


242  APRIL  DA.rS. 

sings,  every  one  of  the  dozen  different  notes  which  he 
flings  down  to  you  is  accompanied  by  a  separate  flirt  and 
flutter  of  his  whole  body,  and,  as  Thoreau  says  of  the 
squirrel,  "  each  movement  seems  to  imply  a  spectator." 
Study  that  song-sparrow :  why  is  it  that  he  always  goes 
so  ragged  in  spring,  and  the  bluebird  so  neat?  is  it  that 
the  song-sparrow  is  a  wild  artist,  absorbed  in  the  compo- 
sition of  his  lay,  and  oblivious  of  ordinary  proprieties, 
while  the  smooth  bluebird  and  his  ash-colored  mate  culti- 
vate their  delicate  warble  only  as  a  domestic  accomplish- 
ment, and  are  always  nicely  dressed  before  sitting  down 
to  the  piano  ?  Then  how  exciting  is  the  gradual  arrival 
of  the  birds  in  their  summer  plumage  !  to  watch  it  is  as 
good  as  sitting  at  the  window  on  Easter  Sunday  to 
observe  the  new  bonnets.  Yonder,  in  that  clump  of 
alders  by  the  brook,  is  the  delicious  jargoning  of  the 
first  flock  of  yellow-birds ;  there  are  the  little  gentlemen 
in  black  and  yellow,  and  the  little  ladies  in  olive-brown  ; 
"  sweet,  sweet,  sweet "  is  the  only  word  thty  say,  and 
often  they  will  so  lower  their  ceaseless  warble,  that, 
though  almost  within  reach,  the  little  minstrels  seem  far 
distant.  There  is  the  very  earliest  cat-bird,  mimicking 
the  bobolink  before  the  bobolink  has  come :  what  is  the 
history  of  his  song,  then  ?  is  it  a  reminiscence  of  last 
year  ?  or  has  the  little  coquette  been  practising  it  all 
winter,  in  some  gay  Southern  society,  where  cat-birds 
and  bobolinks  grow  intimate,  just  as  Southern  fashion- 
ables from  different  States  may  meet  and  sing  duets  at 
Saratoga  ?  There  sounds  the  sweet,  low,  long-continued 
trill  of  the  little  hair-bird,  or  chipping-sparrow,  a  sugges- 
tion of  insect  sounds  in  sultry  summer,  and  produced, 
like  them,  with  the  aid  of  a  slight  fluttering  of  the  winga 
against  the  sides :  by  and  by  we  shall  sometimes  hear 


APRIL  DAYS.  243 

that  same  de\icate  rhythm  burst  the  silence  of  the  June 
midnights,  and  then,  ceasing,  make  stillness  more  still. 
Now  watch  that  woodpecker,  roving  in  ceaseless  search, 
travelling  over  fifty  trees  in  an  hour,  running  from  top  to 
bottom  of  some  small  sycamore,  pecking  at  every  crevice, 
pausing  to  dot  a  dozen  inexplicable  holes  in  a  row  upon 
an  apple-tree,  but  never  once  intermitting  the  low,  queru- 
lous murmur  of  housekeeping  anxiety :  now  she  stops  to 
hammer  with  all  her  little  life  at  some  tough  piece  of 
bark,  strikes  harder  and  harder  blows,  throws  herself 
back  at  last,  flapping  her  wings  furiously  as  she  brings 
down  her  whole  strength  again  upon  it ;  finally  it  yields, 
and  grub  after  grub  goes  down  her  throat,  till  she  whets 
her  beak  after  the  meal  as  a  wild  beast  licks  its  claws, 
and  off  on  her  pressing  business  once  more. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  there  is  so  little  substantial  enjoy- 
ment of  Nature  in  the  community,  when  we  feed  children 
on  grammars  and  dictionaries  only,  and  take  no  pains  to 
train  them  to  see  that  which  is  before  their  eyes.  The 
mass  of  the  community  have  "  summered  and  wintered  " 
the  universe  pretty  regularly,  one  would  think,  for  a  good 
many  years  ;  and  yet  nine  persons  out  of  ten  in  the  town 
or  city,  and  two  out  of  three  even  in  the  country,  seriously 
suppose,  for  instance,  that  the  buds  upon  trees  are  formed 
in  the  spring ;  they  have  had  them  within  sight  all  win- 
ter, and  never  seen  them.  So  people  suppose,  in  good 
faith,  that  a  plant  grows  at  the  base  of  the  stem,  instead 
of  at  the  top :  that  is,  if  they  see  a  young  sapling  in  which 
there  is  a  crotch  at  five  feet  from  the  ground,  they  expect 
to  see  it  ten  feet  from  the  ground  by  and  by, — confound- 
ing the  growth  of  a  tree  with  that  of  a  man  or  animal. 
But  perhaps  the  best  of  us  could  hardly  bear  the  system 
of  tests  unconsciously  laid  down  by  a  small  child  of  my 


244  APRIL  DAIS. 

acquaintance.  The  boy's  father,  a  college-bred  man,  had 
early  chosen  the  better  part,  and  employed  his  fine  faciil 
ties  in  rearing  laurels  in  his  own  beautiful  nursery-gar- 
dens, instead  of  in  the  more  arid  soil  of  court-rooms  or 
state-houses.  Of  course  the  young  human  scion  knew  the 
flowers  by  name  before  he  knew  his  letters,  and  used  their 
symbols  more  readily ;  and  after  he  got  the  command  of 
both,  he  was  one  day  asked  by  his  younger  brother  what 
the  word  idiot  meant,  —  for  somebody  in  the  parlor  had 
been  saying  that  somebody  else  was  an  idiot  "  Don't 
you  know  ?  "  quoth  Ben,  in  his  sweet  voice :  "  an  idiot  is 
a  person  who  does  n't  know  an  arbor-vitae  from  a  pine,  — 
he  does  n't  know  anything."  When  Ben  grows  up  to 
maturity,  bearing  such  terrible  definitions  in  his  unshrink- 
ing hands,  who  of  us  will  be  safe  ? 

The  softer  aspects  of  Nature,  especially,  require  time 
and  culture  before  man  can  enjoy  them.  To  rude  races 
her  processes  bring  only  terror,  which  is  very  slowly  out- 
grown. Humboldt  has  best  exhibited  the  scantiness  of 
finer  natural  perceptions  in  Greek  and  Roman  literature, 
in  spite  of  the  grand  oceanic  rhythm  of  Homer,  and  the 
delicate  water-coloring  of  the  Greek  Anthology  and  of 
Horace.  The  Oriental  and  the  Norse  sacred  books  are 
full  of  fresh  and  beautiful  allusions ;  but  the  Greek  saw 
in  Nature  only  a  framework  for  Art,  and  the  Roman  only 
a  camping-ground  for  men.  Even  Virgil  describes  the 
grotto  of  JEneas  merely  as  a  "  black  grove  "  with  "  hor- 
rid shade,"  —  " Horrenti  atrum  nemus  imminet  umbra" 
Wordsworth  points  out,  that,  even  in  English  literature, 
the  "  Windsor  Forest "  of  Anne,  Countess  of  Winchelsea, 
was  the  first  poem  which  represented  Nature  as  a  thing 
to  be  consciously  enjoyed  ;  and  as  she  was  almost  the  first 
English  poetess,  we  might  be  tempted  to  think  that  we 


APRIL  DAYS.  245 

owe  this  appreciation,  like  some  other  good  things,  to 
the  participation  of  woman  in  literature.  But,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  voluminous 
Duchess  of  Newcastle,  in  her  "Ode  on  Melancholy," 
describes  among  the  symbols  of*  hopeless  gloom  "  the  still 
moonshine  night "  and  "  a  mill  where  rushing  waters  run 
about,"  —  the  sweetest  natural  images.  So  woman  has 
not  so  much  to  claim,  after  all.  In  our  own  country,  the 
early  explorers  seemed  to  find  only  horror  in  its  woods 
and  waterfalls.  Josselyn,  in  1672,  could  only  describe 
the  summer  splendor  of  the  White  Mountain  region  as 
"  dauntingly  terrible,  being  full  of  rocky  hills,  as  thick  as 
molehills  in  a  meadow,  and  full  of  infinite  thick  woods." 
Father  Hennepin  spoke  of  Niagara,  in  the  narrative  still 
quoted  in  the  guide-books,  as  a  "  frightful  cataract " ; 
though  perhaps  his  original  French  phrase  was  softer, 
•ind  honest  John  Adams  could  find  no  better  name  than 
"  horrid  chasm "  for  the  picturesque  gulf  at  Egg  Rock, 
where  he  first  saw  the  sea-anemone. 

But  we  are  lingering  too  long,  perhaps,  with  this  sweet 
April  of  smiles  and  tears.  It  needs  only  to  add,  that  all 
her  traditions  are  beautiful.  Ovid  says  well,  that  she  was 
not  named  from  aperire,  to  open,  as  some  have  thought, 
but  from  Aphrodite,  goddess  of  beauty.  April  holds 
Easter-time,  St.  George's  Day,  and  the  Eve  of  St.  Mark's. 
She  has  not,  like  her  sister  May  in  Germany,  been  trans- 
formed to  a  verb  and  made  a  synonyme  for  joy,  —  "  Deine 
Seele  maiet  den  truben  Herbst"  —  but  April  was  believed 
in  early  ages  to  have  been  the  birth-time  of  the  world. 
According  to  Venerable  Bede,  the  point  was  first  accu- 
rately determined  at  a  council  held  at  Jerusalem  about 
A.  D.  200,  when,  after  much  profound  discussion,  it  was 
finally  decided  that  the  world's  birthday  occurred  on 


246  APRIL  DAYS. 

Sunday,  April  3th,  —  that  is,  at  the  vernal  equinox  and 
the  full  moon.  But  April  is  certainly  the  birth-time  of 
the  season,  at  least,  if  not  of  the  planet.  Its  festivals  are 
older  than  Christianity,  older  than  the  memory  of  man. 
No  sad  associations  cling  to  it,  as  to  the  month  of  June, 
in  which  month,  says  William  of  Malmesbury,  kirgs  are 
wont  to  go  to  war,  —  '*  Quando  solent  reges  ad  arma  pro- 
cedere"  —  but  it  holds  the  Holy  Week,  and  it  is  the  Holy 
Month.  And  in  April  Shakespeare  was  born,  and  in 
April  he  died. 


MY    OUT-DOOR    STUDY. 


MY   OUT-DOOR  STUDY. 


THE  noontide  of  the  summer  day  is  past,  when  all 
Nature  slumbers,  and  when  the  ancients  feared  to 
sing,  lest  the  great  god  Pan  should  be  awakened.  Soft 
changes,  the  gradual  shifting  of  every  shadow  on  every 
leaf,  begin  to  show  the  waning  hours.  Ineffectual  thun- 
der-storms have  gathered  and  gone  by,  hopelessly  de- 
feated. The  floating  bridge  is  trembling  and  resounding 
beneath  the  pressure  of  one  heavy  wagon,  and  the  quiet 
fishermen  change  their  places  to  avoid  the  tiny  ripple 
that  glides  stealthily  to  their  feet  above  the  half-sub- 
merged planks.  Down  the  glimmering  lake  there  are 
miles  of  silence  and  still  waters  and  green  shores,  over- 
hung with  a  multitudinous  and  scattered  fleet  of  purple 
and  golden  clouds,  now  furling  their  idle  sails  and  drifting 
away  into  the  vast  harbor  of  the  South.  Voices  of  birds, 
hushed  first  by  noon  and  then  by  possibilities  of  tempest, 
cautiously  begin  once  more,  leading  on  the  infinite  melo- 
dies of  the  June  afternoon.  As  the  freshened  air  invites 
them  forth,  so  the  smooth  and  stainless  water  summons 
us.  "  Put  your  hand  upon  the  oar,"  says  Charon  in  the 
old  play  to  Bacchus,  "and  you  shall  hear  the  sweetest 
songs."  The  doors  of  the  boat-house  swing  softly  open, 
and  the  slender  wherry,  like  a  water-snake,  steals  silently 
in  the  wake  of  the  dispersing  clouds. 
11* 


250  MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY. 

The  woods  are  hazy,  as  if  the  warm  sunbeams  had 
melted  in  among  the  interstices  of  the  foliage  and  spread 
a  soft  film  throughout  the  whole.  The  i)s.j  seems  to  re- 
flect the  water,  and  the  water  the  sky  ;  both  are  roseate 
with  color,  both  are  darkened  with  clouds,  and  between 
them  both,  as  the  boat  recedes,  the  floating  bridge  hangs 
suspended,  with  its  motionless  fishermen  and  its  moving 
team.  The  wooded  islands  are  poised  upon  the  lake, 
each  belted  with  a  paler  tint  of  softer  wave.  The  air 
seems  fine  and  palpitating ;  the  drop  of  an  oar  in  a  distant 
rowlock,  the  sound  of  a  hammer  on  a  dismantled  boat, 
pass  into  some  region  of  mist  and  shadows,  and  form  a 
metronome  for  delicious  dreams. 

Every  summer  I  launch  my  boat  to  seek  some  realm 
of  enchantment  beyond  all  the  sordidness  and  sorrow  of 
earth,  and  never  yet  did  I  fail  to  ripple  with  my  prow  at 
least  the  outskirts  of  those  magic  waters.  What  spell  has 
fame  or  wealth  to  enrich  this  midday  blessedness  with  a 
joy  the  more  ?  Yonder  barefoot  boy,  as  he  drifts  silently 
in  his  punt  beneath  the  drooping  branches  of  yonder  vine- 
clad  bank,  has  a  bliss  which  no  As  tor  can  buy  with 
money,  no  Seward  conquer  with  votes,  —  which  yet  is  no 
monopoly  of  his,  and  to  which  time  and  experience  only 
add  a  more  subtile  and  conscious  charm.  The  rich  years 
were  given  us  to  increase,  not  to  impair,  these  cheap  fe- 
licities. Sad  or  sinful  is  the  life  of  that  man  who  finds 
not  the  heavens  bluer  and  the  waves  more  musical  in  ma- 
turity than  in  childhood.  Time  is  a  severe  alembic  of 
youthful  joys,  no  doubt ;  we  exhaust  book  after  book,  and 
leave  Shakespeare  unopened  ;  we  grow  fastidious  hi  men 
and  women ;  all  the  rhetoric,  all  the  logic,  we  fancy  we 
have  heard  before ;  we  have  seen  the  pictures,  we  have 
listened  to  the  symphonies :  but  what  has  been  done  by 


MY  OUT-DOOR   STUDY.  251 

all  the  art  and  literature  of  the  world  towards  describing 
one  summer  day  ?  The  most  exhausting  effort  brings  us 
no  nearer  to  it  than  to  the  blue  sky  which  is  its  dome ; 
our  words  are  shot  up  against  it  like  arrows,  and  fall  back 
helpless.  Literary  amateurs  go  the  tour  of  the  globe  to 
renew  their  stock  of  materials,  when  they  do  not  yet  know 
a  bird  or  a  bee  or  a  blossom  beside  their  homestead-door  ; 
and  in  the  hour  of  their  greatest  success  they  have  not  an 
horizon  to  their  life  so  large  as  that  of  yon  boy  in  his 
punt.  All  that  is  purchasable  in  the  capitals  of  the  world 
is  not  to  be  weighed  in  comparison  with  the  simple  enjoy- 
ment that  may  be  crowded  into  one  hour  of  sunshine. 
What  can  place  or  power  do  here  ?  "  Who  could  be 
before  me,  though  the  palace  of  Cassar  cracked  and  split 
with  emperors,  while  I,  sitting  in  silence  on  a  cliff  of 
Rhodes,  watched  the  sun  as  he  swung  his  golden  censer 
athwart  the  heavens  ?  " 

It  is  pleasant  to  observe  a  sort  of  confused  and  latent 
recognition  of  all  this  in  the  instinctive  sympathy  which 
is  always  rendered  to  any  indication  of  out-door  pursuits. 
How  cordially  one  sees  the  eyes  of  all  travellers  turn  to 
the  man  who  enters  the  railroad-station  with  a  fowling- 
piece  in  hand,  or  the  boy  with  water-lilies  !  There  is  a 
momentary  sensation  of  the  freedom  of  the  woods,  a 
whiff  of  oxygen  for  the  anxious  money-changers.  How 
agreeably  sounds  the  news  —  to  all  but  his  creditors  — 
that  the  lawyer  or  the  merchant  has  locked  his  office-door 
and  gone  fishing  !  The  American  temperament  needs  at 
this  moment  nothing  so  much  as  that  wholesome  training 
of  semi-rural  life  which  reared  Hampden  and  Cromwell 
to  assume  at  one  grasp  the  sovereignty  of  England,  and 
which  has  ever  since  served  as  the  foundation  of  Eng- 
land's greatest  ability.  The  best  thoughts  and  purposes 


252  MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY. 

seemed  ordained  to  come  to  human  beings  beneath  the 
open  sky,  as  the  ancients  fabled  that  Pan  found  the  god- 
dess Ceres  when  he  was  engaged  in  the  chase,  whom  no 
other  of  the  gods  could  find  when  seeking  seriously.  The 
little  I  have  gained  from  colleges  and  libraries  has  cer- 
tainly not  worn  so  well  as  the  little  I  learned  in  childhood 
of  the  habits  of  plant,  bird,  and  insect.  That  "  weight 
and  sanity  of  thought,"  which  Coleridge  so  finely  makes 
the  crowning  attribute  of  Wordsworth,  is  in  no  way  so 
well  matured  and  cultivated  as  in  the  society  of  Nature. 

There  may  be  extremes  and  affectations,  and  Mary 
Lamb  declared  that  Wordsworth  held  it  doubtful  if  a 
dweller  in  towns  had  a  soul  to  be  saved.  During  the 
various  phases  of  transcendental  idealism  among  our- 
selves, in  the  last  twenty  years,  the  love  of  Nature  has 
at  times  assumed  an  exaggerated  and  even  a  pathetic 
aspect,  in  the  morbid  attempts  of  youths  and  maidens  to 
make  it  a  substitute  for  vigorous  thought  and  action,  —  a 
lion  endeavoring  to  dine  on  grass  and  green  leaves.  In 
some  cases  this  mental  chlorosis  reached  such  a  height  as 
almost  to  nauseate  one  with  Nature,  when  in  the  society 
of  the  victims ;  and  surfeited  companions  felt  inclined  to 
rush  to  the  treadmill  immediately,  or  get  chosen  on  the 
Board  of  Selectmen,  or  plunge  into  any  .conceivable 
drudgery,  in  order  to  feel  that  there  was  still  work 
enough  in  the  universe  to  keep  it  sound  and  healthy. 
But  this,  after  all,  was  exceptional  and  transitory,  and 
our  American  life  still  needs,  beyond  all  things  else,  the 
more  habitual  cultivation  of  out-door  hr.bits. 

Probably  the  direct  ethical  influence  of  natural  objects 
may  be  overrated.  Nature  is  not  didactic,  but  simply 
healthy.  She  helps  everything  to  its  legitimate  develop- 
ment, but  applies  no  goads,  and  forces  on  us  no  sharp 


MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY.  253 

distinctions.  Her  wonderful  calmness,  refreshing  the 
whole  soul,  must  aid  both  conscience  and  intellect  in 
the  end,  but  sometimes  lulls  both  temporarily,  when 
immediate  issues  are  pending.  The  waterfall  cheers 
and  purifies  infinitely,  but  it  marks  no  moments,  has 
no  reproaches  for  indolence,  forces  to  no  immediate  de- 
cision, offers  unbounded  to-morrows,  and  the  man  of 
action  must  tear  himself  away,  when  the  time  comes, 
since  the  work  will  not  be  done  for  him.  "  The  natural 
day  is  very  calm,  and  will  hardly  reprove  our  indolence." 
And  yet  the  more  bent  any  man  is  upon  action,  the 
more  profoundly  he  needs  this  very  calmness  of  Nature 
to  preserve  his  equilibrium.  The  radical  himself  needs 
nothing  so  much  as  fresh  air.  The  world  is  called  con- 
servative ;  but  it  is  far  easier  to  impress  a  plausible 
thought  on  the  complaisance  of  others,  than  to  retain  an 
unfaltering  faith  in  it  for  ourselves.  The  most  dogged 
reformer  distrusts  himself  every  little  while,  and  says 
inwardly,  like  Luther,  "  Art  thou  alone  wise  ?  "  So  he 
is  compelled  to  exaggerate,  in  the  effort  to  hold  his  own. 
The  community  is  bored  by  the  conceit  and  egotism  of 
the  innovators ;  so  it  is  by  that  of  poets  and  artists, 
orators  and  statesmen ;  but  if  we  knew  how  heavily 
ballasted  all  these  poor  fellows  need  to  be,  to  keep  an 
even  keel  amid  so  many  conflicting  tempests  of  blame 
and  praise,  we  should  hardly  reproach  them.  But  the 
simple  enjoyments  of  out-door  life,  costing  next  to  noth- 
ing, tend  to  equalize  all  vexations.  What  matter,  if  the 
Governor  removes  you  from  office?  he  cannot  remove 
you  from  the  lake ;  and  if  readers  or  customers  will  not 
bite,  the  pickerel  will.  We  must  keep  busy,  of  course  ; 
yet  we  cannot  transform  the  world  except  very  slowly, 
and  we  can  best  preserve  our  patience  in  the  society 


254  MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY. 

of  Nature,  who  does  her  work  almost  as  imperceptibly 
as  we. 

And  for  literary  training,  especially,  the  influence  of 
natural  beauty  is  simply  priceless.  Under  the  present 
educational  systems,  we  need  grammars  and  languages 
far  less  than  a  more  thorough  out-door  experience.  On 
this  flowery  bank,  on  this  ripple-marked  shore,  are  the 
true  literary  models.  How  many  living  authors  have 
ever  attained  to  writing  a  single  page  which  could  be  for 
one  moment  compared,  for  the  simplicity  and  grace  of  its 
structure,  with  this  green  spray  of  wild  woodbine  or 
yonder  white  wreath  of  blossoming  clematis  ?  A  finely 
organized  sentence  should  throb  and  palpitate  like  the 
most  delicate  vibrations  of  the  summer  air.  We  talk  of 
literature  as  if  it  were  a  mere  matter  of  rule  and  meas- 
urement, a  series  of  processes  long  since  brought  to 
mechanical  perfection :  but  it  would  be  less  incorrect  to 
say  that  it  all  lies  in  the  future ;  tried  by  the  out-door 
standard,  there  is  as  yet  no  literature,  but  only  glimpses 
and  guideboards  ;  no  writer  has  yet  succeeded  in  sustain- 
ing, through  more  than  some  single  occasional  sentence, 
that  fresh  and  perfect  charm.  If  by  the  training  of  a 
lifetime  one  could  succeed  in  producing  one  continuous 
page  of  perfect  cadence,  it  would  be  a  life  well  spent,  and 
such  a  literary  artist  would  fall  short  of  Nature's  standard 
in  quantity  only,  not  in  quality. 

It  is  one  sign  of  our  weakness,  also,  that  we  commonly 
assume  Nature  to  be  a  rather  fragile  and  merely  orna- 
mental thing,  and  suited  for  a  model  of  the  graces  only. 
But  her  seductive  softness  is  the  last  climax  of  magnifi- 
cent strength.  The  same  mathematical  law  winds  the 
leaves  around  the  stem  and  the  planets  round  the  sun. 
The  same  law  of  crystallization  rules  the  slight-knit 


MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY.  255 

snow-flake  and  the  hard  foundations  of  the  earth.  The 
thistle-down  floats  secure  upon  the  same  summer  zephyrs 
that  are  woven  into  the  tornado.  The  dew-drop  holds 
within  its  transparent  cell  the  same  electric  fire  which 
charges  the  thunder-cloud.  In  the  softest  tree  or  the 
airiest  waterfall,  the  fundamental  lines  are  as  lithe  and 
muscular  as  the  crouching  haunches  of  a  leopard;  and 
without  a  pencil  vigorous  enough  to  render  these,  no  mere 
mass  of  foam  or  foh'age,  however  exquisitely  finished, 
can  tell  the  story.  Lightness  of  touch  is  the  crowning 
test  of  power. 

Yet  Nature  dres  not  work  by  single  spasms  only. 
That  chestnut  sjray  is  not  an  isolated  and  exhaustive 
effort  of  creative  beauty  :  look  upward  and  see  its  sisters 
rise  with  pile  above  pile  of  fresh  and  stately  verdure,  till 
tree  meets  sky  in  a  dome  of  glorious  blossom,  the  whole 
as  perfect  as  the  parts,  the  least  part  as  perfect  as  the 
whole.  Studying  the  details,  it  seems  as  if  Nature  were  a 
series  of  costly  fragments  with  no  coherency,  —  as  if  she 
would  never  encourage  us  to  do  anything  systematically, 
—  would  tolerate  no  method  but  her  own,  and  yet  had 
none  of  her  own,  —  were  as  abrupt  in  her  transitions 
from  oak  to  maple  as  the  heroine  who  went  into  the 
garden  to  cut  a  cabbage-leaf  to  make  an  apple-pie  ;  while 
yet  there  is  no  conceivable  human  logic  so  close  and 
inexorable  as  her  connections.  How  rigid,  how  flexible 
are,  for  instance,  the  laws  of  perspective  !  If  one  could 
learn  to  make  his  statements  as  firm  and  unswerving  as 
the  horizon-line,  —  his  continuity  of  thought  as  marked, 
yet  as  unbroken,  as  yonder  soft  gradations  by  which  the 
eye  is  lured  upward  from  lake  to  wood,  from  wood  to  hill, 
from  hill  to  heavens,  —  what  more  bracing  tonic  could 
literary  culture  demand  ?  As  it  is,  Art  misses  the  parts, 
yet  does  not  grasp  the  whole. 


256  MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY. 

Literature  also  learns  from  Nature  the  use  of  materi- 
als: either  to  select  only  the  choicest  and  rarest,  or  to 
transmute  coarse  to  fine  by  skill  in  using.  How  perfect 
is  the  delicacy  with  which  the  woods  and  fields  are  kept, 
throughout  the  year !  All  these  millions  of  living  crea- 
tures born  every  season,  and  born  to  die ;  yet  where  are 
the  dead  bodies  ?  We  never  see  them.  Buried  beneath 
the  earth  by  tiny  nightly  sextons,  sunk  beneath  the  wa- 
ters, dissolved  into  the  air,  or  distilled  again  and  again  as 
food  for  other  organizations,  —  all  have  had  their  swift 
resurrection.  Their  existence  blooms  again  in  these  violet- 
petals,  glitters  in  the  burnished  beauty  of  these  golden 
beetles,  or  enriches  the  veery's  song.  It  is  only  out  of 
doors  that  even  death  and  decay  become  beautiful.  The 
model  farm,  the  most  luxurious  house,  have  their  regions 
of  unsightliness ;  but  the  fine  chemistry  of  Nature  is 
constantly  clearing  away  all  its  impurities  before  our 
eyes,  and  yet  so  delicately  that  we  never  suspect  the 
process.  The  most  exquisite  work  of  literary  art  ex- 
hibits a  certain  crudeness  and  coarseness,  when  we  turn 
to  it  from  Nature,  —  as  the  smallest  cambric  needle 
appears  rough  and  jagged,  when  compared  through  the 
magnifier  with  the  tapering  fineness  of  the  insect's  sting. 

Once  separated  from  Nature,  literature  recedes  into 
metaphysics,  or  dwindles  into  novels.  How  ignoble  seems 
the  current  material  of  London  literary  life,  for  instance, 
compared  with  the  noble  simplicity  which,  a  half-century 
ago,  made  the  Lake  Country  an  enchanted  land  forever ! 
Is  it  worth  a  voyage  to  England  to  sup  with  Thackeray 
in  the  Pot  Tavern  ?  Compare  the  a  enormity  of  pleas- 
ure "  which  De  Quincey  says  "Wordsworth  derived  from 
the  simplest  natural  object,  with  the  serious  protest  of 
Wilkie  Collins  against  the  affectation  of  caring  about 


MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY.  257 

Nature  at  alL  "  Is  it  not  strange,"  says  this  most  un- 
happy man,  "  to  see  how  little  real  hold  the  objects  of 
the  natural  world  amidst  which  we  live  can  gain  on  our 
hearts  and  minds  ?  We  go  to  Nature  for  comfort  in  joy 

and    sympathy  in    trouble,  only  in    books What 

share  have  the  attractions  of  Nature  ever  had  in  the 
pleasurable  or  painful  interests  and  emotions  of  ourselves 

or  our  friends  ? There  is  surely  a  reason  for  this 

want  of  inborn  sympathy  between  the  creature  and  the 
creation  around  it." 

Leslie  says  of  "  the  most  original  landscape-painter  he 
knew,"  meaning  Constable,  that,  whenever  he  sat  down 
in  the  fields  to  sketch,  he  endeavored  to  forget  that  he 
had  ever  seen  a  picture.  In  literature  this  is  easy,  the 
descriptions  are  so  few  and  so  faint.  When  Word»worth 
was  fourteen,  he  stopped  one  day  by  the  wayside  to  ob- 
serve the  dark  outline  of  an  oak  against  the  western  sky; 
and  he  says  that  he  was  at  that  moment  struck  with  "  the 
infinite  variety  of  natural  appearances  which  had  been 
unnoticed  by  the  poets  of  any  age  or  country,"  so  far  as 
he  was  acquainted  with  them,  and  "  made  a  resolution  to 
supply  in  some  degree  the  deficiency."  He  spent  a  long 
life  in  studying  and  telling  these  beautiful  wonders ;  and 
yet,  so  vast  is  the  sum  of  them,  they  seem  almost  as 
undescribed  as  before,  and  men  to  be  still  as  content  with 
vague  or  conventional  representations.  On  this  continent, 
especially,  people  fancied  that  all  must  be  tame  and  sec- 
ond-hand, everything  long  since  duly  analyzed  and  dis- 
tributed and  put  up  in  appropriate  quotations,  and  noth- 
ing left  for  us  poor  American  children  but  a  preoccupied 
universe.  And  yet  Thoreau  camps  down  by  Walden 
Pond,  and  shows  us  that  absolutely  nothing  in  Nature  has 
ever  yet  been  described,  —  not  a  bird  nor  a  berry  of  the 


258  MY  OUT-DOOR   STUDY. 

woods,  nor  a  drop  of  water,  nor  a  spicula  of  ice,  nor  sum- 
mer, nor  winter,  nor  sun,  nor  star. 

Indeed,  no  person  can  portray  Nature  from  any  slight 
or  transient  acquaintance.  A  reporter  cannot  step  out 
between  the  sessions  of  a  caucus  and  give  a  racy  abstract 
of  the  landscape.  It  may  consume  the  best  hours  of 
many  days  to  certify  for  one's  self  the  simplest  out-door 
fact,  but  every  such  piece  of  knowledge  is  intellectually 
worth  the  time.  Even  the  driest  and  barest  book  of 
Natural  History  is  good  and  nutritious,  so  far  as  it  goes, 
if  it  represents  genuine  acquaintance ;  one  can  find  sum- 
mer in  January  by  poring  over  the  Latin  catalogues  of 
Massachusetts  plants  and  animals  in  Hitchcock's  Report. 
The  most  commonplace  out-door  society  has  the  same 
attraction.  Every  one  of  those  old  outlaws  who  haunt 
our  New-England  ponds  and  marshes,  water-soaked  and 
soakers  of  something  else,  —  intimate  with  the  pure  fluid 
in  that  familiarity  which  breeds  contempt,  —  has  yet  a 
wholesome  side  when  you  explore  his  knowledge  of  frost 
and  freshet,  pickerel  and  musk-rat,  and  is  exceedingly 
good  company  while  you  can  keep  him  beyond  scent  of 
the  tavern.  Any  intelligent  farmer's  boy  can  give  you 
some  narrative  of  out-door  observation  which,  so  far  as  it 
goes,  fulfils  Milton's  definition  of  poetry,  "  simple,  sensu- 
ous, passionate."  He  may  not  write  sonnets  to  the  lake, 
but  he  will  walk  miles  to  bathe  in  it ;  he  may  not  notice 
the  sunsets,  but  he  knows  where  to  search  for  the  black- 
bird's nest.  How  surprised  the  school-children  looked, 
to  be  sure,  when  the  Doctor  of  Divinity  from  the  city 
tried  to  sentimentalize,  in  addressing  them,  about  "  the 
bobolink  in  the  woods " !  They  knew  that  the  darling 
of  the  meadow  had  no  more  personal  acquaintance  with 
the  woods  than  was  exhibited  by  the  preacher. 


MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY.  259 

But  the  preachers  are  not  much  worse  than  the  au- 
thors. The  prosaic  Buckle,  indeed,  admits  that  the  poets 
have  in  all  time  been  consummate  observers,  and  that 
their  observations  have  been  as  valuable  as  those  of  the 
men  of  science ;  and  yet  we  look  even  to  the  poets  for 
very  casual  and  occasional  glimpses  of  Nature  only,  not 
for  any  continuous  reflection  of  her  glory.  Thus,  Chaucer 
is  perfumed  with  early  spring ;  Homer  resounds  like  the 
sea ;  in  the  Greek  Anthology  the  sun  always  shines  on 
the  fisherman's  cottage  by  the  beach;  we  associate  the 
Vishnu  Purana  with  lakes  and  lotuses,  Keats  with  night- 
ingales in  forest  dim,  while  the  long  grass  waving  on  the 
lonely  heath  is  the  last  memorial  of  the  fading  fame  of 
Ossian.  Of  course  Shakespeare's  omniscience  included 
all  natural  phenomena ;  but  the  rest,  great  or  small,  as- 
sociate themselves  with  some  special  aspects,  and  not  with 
the  daily  atmosphere.  Coming  to  our  own  times,  one 
must  quarrel  with  Ruskin  as  taking  rather  the  artist's 
view  of  Nature,  selecting  the  available  bits  and  dealing 
rather  patronizingly  with  the  whole ;  and  one  is  tempt- 
ed to  charge  even  Emerson,  as  he  somewhere  charges 
Wordsworth,  with  not  being  of  a  temperament  quite 
liquid  and  musical  enough  to  admit  the  full  vibration 
of  the  great  harmonies.  The  three  human  foster-chil- 
dren who  have  been  taken  nearest  into  Nature's  bosom, 
perhaps,  —  an  odd  triad,  surely,  for  the  whimsical  nursing 
mother  to  select,  —  are  Wordsworth,  Bettine  Brentano, 
and  Thoreau.  Is  it  yielding  to  an  individual  preference 
too  far  to  say,  that  there  seems  almost  a  generic  differ- 
ence between  these  three  and  any  others,  —  however 
wide  be  the  specific  differences  among  themselves,  —  to 
say,  that,  after  all,  they  in  their  several  paths  have  at- 
tained to  an  habitual  intimacy  with  Nature,  and  the  rest 
have  not? 


260  MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY. 

Yet  what  wonderful  achievements  have  some  of  the 
fragmentary  artists  performed !  Some  of  Tennyson's 
word-pictures,  for  instance,  bear  almost  as  much  study 
as  the  landscape.  One  afternoon,  last  spring,  I  had  been 
walking  though  a  copse  of  young  white  birches,  —  their 
leaves  scarce  yet  apparent, — over  a  ground  delicate  with 
wood-anemones,  moist  and  mottled  with  dog's-tooth-violet 
leaves,  and  spangled  with  the  delicate  clusters  of  that  shy 
creature,  the  Claytonia  or  Spring  Beauty.  All  this  was 
floored  with  last  year's  faded  foliage,  giving  a  singular 
bareness  and  whiteness  to  the  foreground.  Suddenly, 
as  if  entering  a  cavern,  I  stepped  through  the  edge  of 
all  this,  into  a  dark  little  amphitheatre  beneath  a  hem- 
lock-grove, where  the  afternoon  sunlight  struck  broadly 
through  the  trees  upon  a  tiny  stream  and  a  miniature 
swamp,  —  this  last  being  intensely  and  luridly  green,  yet 
overlaid  with  the  pale  gray  of  last  year's  reeds,  and  ab- 
solutely flaming  with  the  gayest  yellow  light  from  great 
clumps  of  cowslips.  The  illumination  seemed  perfectly 
weird  and  dazzling ;  the  spirit  of  the  place  appeared  live, 
wild,  fantastic,  almost  human.  Now  open  your  Tenny- 
son:— 

"  And  the  wild  marsh-marigold  shines  like  fire  in  swamps  and  hottmot 
gray." 

Our  cowslip  is  the  English  marsh-marigold. 

History  is  a  grander  poetry,  and  it  is  often  urged  that 
the  features  of  Nature  in  America  must  seem  tame  be- 
cause they  have  no  legendary  wreaths  to  decorate  them. 
It  is  perhaps  hard  for  those  of  us  who  are  untravelled  to 
appreciate  how  densely  even  the  ruralities  of  Europe  are 
overgrown  with  this  ivy  of  associations.  Thus,  it  is  fas- 
cinating to  hear  that  the  great  French  forests  of  Fontaine- 
bleau  and  St.  Germain  are  full  of  historic  trees,  —  the  oak 


MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY.  261 

of  Charlemagne,  the  oak  of  Clovis,  of  Queen  Blanche,  of 
Henri  Quatre,  of  Sully,  —  the  alley  of  Richelieu, — the 
rendezvous  of  St.  He'rem,  —  the  star  of  Lamballe  and  of 
the  Princesses,  a  star  being  a  point  where  several  paths 
or  roads  converge.  It  is  said  that  every  topographical 
work  upon  these  forests  has  turned  out  a  history  of  the 
French  monarchy.  Yet  surely  we  lose  nearly  as  much 
as  we  gain  by  this  subordination  of  imperishable  beauty 
to  the  perishable  memories  of  man.  It  may  not  be  wholly 
unfortunate,  that,  in  the  absence  of  those  influences  which 
come  to  older  nations  from  ruins  and  traditions,  we  must 
go  more  directly  to  Nature.  Art  may  either  rest  upon 
other  Art,  or  it  may  rest  directly  upon  the  original  foun- 
dation ;  the  one  is  easier,  the  other  more  valuable.  Di- 
rect dependence  on  Nature  leads  to  deeper  thought,  and 
affords  the  promise  of  far  fresher  results.  Why  should  I 
wish  to  fix  my  study  in  Heidelberg  Castle,  when  I  possess 
the  unexhausted  treasures  of  this  out-door  study  here  ? 

The  walls  of  my  study  are  of  ever-changing  verdure, 
and  its  roof  and  floor  of  ever-varying  blue.  I  never  enter 
it  without  a  new  heaven  above  and  new  thoughts  below. 
The  lake  has  no  lofty  shores  and  no  level  ones,  but  a 
series  of  undulating  hills,  fringed  with  woods  from  end  to 
end.  The  profaning  axe  may  sometimes  come  near  the 
margin,  and  one  may  hear  the  whetting  of  the  scythe ; 
but  no  cultivated  land  abuts  upon  the  main  lake,  though 
beyond  the  narrow  woods  there  are  here  and  there 
glimpses  of  rye-fields  that  wave  like  rolling  mist  Grace- 
ful islands  rise  from  the  quiet  waters,  —  Grape  Island, 
Grass  Island,  Sharp  Pine  Island,  and  the  rest,  baptized 
with  simple  names  by  departed  generations  of  farmers,  — 
all  wooded  and  bushy  and  trailing  with  festoonery  of 
vines.  Here  and  there  the  banks  are  indented,  and  one 


262  MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY. 

may  pass  beneath  drooping  chestnut-leaves  and  among 
alder-branches  into  some  secret  sanctuary  of  stillness. 
The  emerald  edges  of  these  silent  tarns  are  starred  with 
dandelions  which  have  strayed  here,  one  scarce  knows 
how,  from  their  foreign  home ;  the  buck-bean  perchance 
grows  in  the  water,  or  the  Rhodora  fixes  here  one  of  its 
shy  camping-places,  or  there  are  whole  skies  of  lupine  on 
the  sloping  banks;  —  the  cat-bird  builds  its  nest  beside 
us,  the  yellow-bird  above,  the  wood-thrush  sings  late  and 
the  whippoorwill  later,  and  sometimes  the  scarlet  tanager 
and  his  golden-haired  bride  send  a  gleam  of  the  tropics 
through  these  leafy  aisles. 

Sometimes  I  rest  in  a  yet  more  secluded  place  amid 
the  waters,  where  a  little  wooded  island  holds  a  small 
lagoon  in  the  centre,  just  wide  enough  for  the  wherry 
to  turn  round.  The  entrance  lies  between  two  horn- 
beam trees,  which  stand  close  to  the  brink,  spreading 
over  it  their  thorn-like  branches  and  their  shining  leaves. 
Within  there  is  perfect  shelter ;  the  island  forms  a  high 
circular  bank,  like  a  coral  reef,  and  shuts  out  the  wind 
and  the  passing  boats ;  the  surface  is  paved  with  leaves 
of  lily  and  pond-weed,  and  the  boughs  above  are  full  of 
song.  No  matter  what  white  caps  may  crest  the  blue 
waters  of  the  pond,  which  here  widens  out  to  its  broadest 
reach,  there  is  always  quiet  here.  A  few  oar-strokes 
distant  lies  a  dam  or  water-break,  where  the  whole  lake 
is  held  under  control  by  certain  distant  mills,  towards 
which  a  sluggish  stream  goes  winding  on  through  miles 
of  water-lilies.  The  old  gray  timbers  of  the  dam  are  the 
natural  resort  of  every  boy  or  boatman  within  their  reach ; 
some  come  in  pursuit  of  pickerel,  some  of  turtles,  some  of 
bullfrogs,  some  of  lilies,  some  of  bathing.  It  is  a  good 
place  for  the  last  desideratum,  and  it  is  well  to  leave  here 


Mf  OUT-DOOR  STUDY.  263 

the  boat  tethered  to  the  vines  which  overhang  the  cove, 
and  perform  a  sacred  and  Oriental  ablution  beneath  the 
sunny  afternoon. 

O  ndiant  and  divine  afternoon  !  The  poets  profusely 
celebrate  silver  evenings  and  golden  mornings  ;  but  what 
floods  on  floods  of  beauty  steep  the  earth  and  gladden  it 
in  the  first  hours  of  day's  decline  !  The  exuberant  rays 
reflect  and  multiply  themselves  from  every  leaf  and  blade ; 
the  cows  lie  upon  the  hillside,  with  their  broad  peacefal 
backs  painted  into  the  landscape ;  the  hum  of  insects, 
"  tiniest  bells  on  the  garment  of  silence,"  fills  the  air  ;  the 
gorgeous  butterflies  doze  upon  the  thistle-blooms  till  they 
almost  fall  from  the  petals ;  the  air  is  full  of  warm  fra- 
grance from  the  wild-grape  clusters  ;  the  grass  is  burning 
hot  beneath  the  naked  feet  in  sunshine,  and  cool  as  water 
in  the  shade.  Diving  from  this  overhanging  beam, — > 
for  Ovid  evidently  meant  that  Midas  to  be  cured  must 
dive,  — 

"  Subde  caput,  corpusque  simnl,  simul  elue  crinem,"  — 

one  finds  as  kindly  a  reception  from  the  water  as  in 
childish  days,  and  as  safe  a  shelter  in  the  green  dressing- 
room  afterwards ;  and  the  patient  wherry  floats  near  by, 
in  readiness  for  a  re-embarkation. 

Here  a  word  seems  needed,  unprofessionally  and  non- 
technically,  upon  boats,  —  these  being  the  sole  seats  pro- 
vided for  occupant  or  visitor  in  my  out-door  study.  When 
wherries  first  appeared  in  this  peaceful  inland  communitv, 
the  novel  proportions  occasioned  remark.  Facetious  by- 
standers inquired  sarcastically  whether  that  thing  were 
expected  to  carry  more  than  one,  —  plainly  implying  by 
labored  emphasis  that  it  would  occasionally  be  seen  ten- 
anted by  even  less  than  that  number.  Transcendental 
friends  inquired,  with  more  refined  severity,  if  the  propri- 


264  MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY. 

etor  expected  to  meditate  in  that  thing  ?  This  doubt  at 
least  seemed  legitimate.  Meditation  seems  to  belong  to 
sailing  rather  than  rowing ;  there  is  something  so  gentle 
and  unintrusive  in  gliding  effortless  beneath  overhanging 
branches  and  along  the  trailing  edges  of  clematis  thickets  ; 
—  what  a  privilege  of  fairy-land  is  this  noiseless  prow, 
looking  in  and  out  of  one  flowery  cove  after  another, 
scarcely  stirring  the  turtle  from  his  log,  and  leaving  no 
wake  behind !  It  seemed  as  if  all  the  process  of  rowing 
had  too  much  noise  and  bluster,  and  as  if  the  sharp  slen- 
der wherry,  in  particular,  were  rather  too  pert  and  dapper 
to  win  the  confidence  of  the  woods  and  waters.  Time 
has  dispelled  the  fear.  As  I  rest  poised  upon  the  oars 
above  some  submerged  shallow,  diamonded  with  ripple- 
broken  sunbeams,  the  fantastic  Notonecta  or  water-boat- 
man rests  upon  his  oars  below,  and  I  see  that  his  propor- 
tions anticipated  the  wherry,  as  honeycombs  antedated 
the  problem  of  the  hexagonal  cell.  While  one  of  us  rests, 
so  does  the  other ;  and  when  one  shoots  away  rapidly 
above  the  water,  the  other  does  the  same  beneath.  For 
the  time,  as  our  motions  seem  the  same,  so  with  our 
motives,  —  my  enjoyment  certainly  not  less,  with  the 
conveniences  of  humanity  thrown  in. 

But  the  sun  is  declining  low.  The  club-boats  are  out, 
and  from  island  to  island  in  the  distance  these  shafts  of 
youthful  life  shoot  swiftly  across.  There  races  some  swift 
Atalanta,  with  no  apple  to  fall  in  her  path  but  some  soft 
and  spotted  oak-apple  from  an  overhanging  tree  ;  there 
the  Phantom,  with  a  crew  white  and  ghostlike  in  the 
distance,  glimmers  in  and  out  behind  the  headlands,  while 
yonder  wherry  glides  lonely  across  the  smooth  expanse. 
The  voices  of  all  these  oarsmen  are  dim  and  almost  in- 
audible, being  so  far  away  ;  but  one  would  scarcely  wish 


MY  OUT-DOOR   STUDY.  265 

that  distance  should  annihilate  the  ringing  laughter  of 
these  joyous  girls,  who  come  gliding,  in  a  safe  and  heavy 
boat,  they  and  some  blue  dragon-flies  together,  around 
yonder  wooded  point. 

Many  a  summer  afternoon  have  I  rowed  joyously  with 
these  same  maidens  beneath  these  steep  and  garlanded 
shores ;  many  a  time  have  they  pulled  the  heavy  four-oar, 
with  me  as  coxswain  at  the  helm,  —  the  said  patient 
steersman  being  ofttimes  insulted  by  classical  allusions 
from  rival  boats,  satirically  comparing  him  to  an  indolent 
Venus  drawn  by  doves,  while  the  oarswomen,  in  turn, 
were  likened  to  Minerva  with  her  feet  upon  a  tortoise. 
Many  were  the  disasters  in  the  earlier  days  of  feminine 
training  ;  —  first  of  toilet,  —  straw  hats  blowing  away, 
hair  coming  down,  hair-pins  strewing  the  floor  of  the 
boat,  gloves  commonly  happening  to  be  off  at  the  precise 
moment  of  starting,  and  trials  of  speed  impaired  by  some- 
body's oar  catching  in  somebody's  dress-pocket.  Then 
the  actual  difficulties  of  handling  the  long  and  heavy  oars, 

—  the  first  essays  at  feathering,  with  a  complicated  splash 
of  air  and  water,  as  when  a  wild  duck,  in  rising,  swims 
and  flies  together,  and  uses  neither  element  handsomely, 

—  the  occasional  pulling  of  a  particularly  vigorous  stroke 
through  the  atmosphere  alone,  and  at  other  times  the 
compensating  disappearance  of  nearly  the  whole  oar  be- 
neath the  liquid  surface,  as  if  some  Uncle  Kuhleborn  had 
grasped  it,  while  our  Undine  by  main  strength  tugged 
it  from  the  beguiling  wave.     But  with  what  triumphant 
abundance  of  merriment  were  these  preliminary  disasters 
repaid,   and  how   soon   outgrown  !     What  "  time "  we 
sometimes  made,  when  nobody  happened  to  be  near  with 
a  watch,  and  how  successfully  we  tossed  oars  in  saluting, 
when  the  world  looked  on  from  a  picnic !     We  had  our 

II 


266  MY  OUT-DOOR   STUDY. 

applauses,  too.  To  be  sure,  owing  to  the  age  and  dimen- 
sions of  the  original  barge,  we  could  not  command  such  a 
burst  of  enthusiasm  as  when  the  young  men  shot  by  us 
in  their  race-boat ;  but  then,  as  one  of  the  girls  justly 
remarked,  we  remained  longer  in  sight. 

And  many  a  day,  since  promotion  to  a  swifter  craft, 
have  they  rowed  with  patient  stroke  down  the  lovely  lake, 
still  attended  by  their  guide,  philosopher,  and  coxswain, 

—  along  banks  where  herds  of  young  birch-trees  over- 
spread the  sloping  valley,  and  ran  down  in  a  blaze  of 
sunshine   to  the  rippling  water,  —  or  through  the  Nar- 
rows, where   some  breeze  rocked   the  boat  till  trailing 
shawls  and  ribbons  were  water-soaked,  and  the  bold  little 
foam  would  even  send  a  daring  drop  over  the  gunwale,  to 
play  at  ocean,  —  or  to  Davis's  Cottage,  where  a  whole 
parterre  of  lupines  bloomed  to  the  water's  edge,  as  if 
relics  of  some  ancient  garden-bower  of  a  forgotten  race, 

—  or  to  the  dam  by  Lily  Pond,  there  to  hunt  among  the 
stones  for  snakes'  eggs,  each  empty  shell  cut  crosswise, 
where  the  young  creatures  had  made  their  first  fierce  bite 
into  the  universe  outside,  —  or  to  some   island,  where 
white  violets  bloomed  fragrant  and  lonely,  separated  by 
relentless  breadths  of  water  from  their  shore-born  sisters, 
until  mingled  in  their  visitors'  bouquets,  —  then  up  the 
lake  homeward  again   at  nightfall,  the  boat  all  decked 
with  clematis,  clethra,  laurel,  azalea,  or  water-lilies,  while 
purple  sunset  .clouds  turned  forth  their  golden  linings  for 
drapery  above  our  heads,  and  then,  unrolling,  sent  north- 
ward long  roseate  wreaths  to  outstrip  our  loitering  speed, 
and  reach  the  floating  bridge  before  us. 

It  is  nightfall  now.  One  by  one  the  birds  grow  silent, 
and  the  soft  dragon-flies,  children  of  the  day,  are  flutter- 
ing noiselessly  to  their  rest  beneath  the  under  sides  of 


MY  OUT-DOOR  STUDY.  267 

drooping  leaves.  From  shadowy  coves  the  evening  air 
is  thrusting  forth  a  thin  film  of  mist  to  spread  a  white 
floor  above  the  waters.  The  gathering  darkness  deepens 
the  quiet  of  the  lake,  and  bids  us,  at  least  for  this  time, 
to  forsake  it.  " De  soir  fontaines,  de  matin  montaignes" 
says  the  ojd  French  proverb,  —  Morning  for  labor,  even- 
ing for  repose. 


WATER-LILIES. 


WATER-LILIES. 


THE  inconstant  April  mornings  drop  showers  or  sun- 
beams over  the  glistening  lake,  while  far  beneath 
its  surface  a  murky  mass  disengages  itself  from  the 
muddy  bottom,  and  rises  slowly  through  the  waves.  The 
tasselled  alder-branches  droop  above  it ;  the  last  year's 
blackbird's  nest  swings  over  it  in  the  grape-vine ;  the 
newly-opened  Hepaticas  and  Epigaeas  on  the  neighboring 
bank  peer  down  modestly  to  look  for  it ;  the  water-skater 
(Gerris)  pauses  on  the  surface  near  it,  casting  on  the 
shallow  bottom  the  odd  shadow  of  his  feet,  like  three 
pairs  of  boxing-gloves  ;  the  Notonecta,  or  water-boatman, 
rows  round  and  round  it,  sometimes  on  his  breast,  some- 
times on  his  back ;  queer  caddis-worms  trail  their  self- 
made  homesteads  of  leaves  or  twigs  beside  it ;  the  Dytis- 
cus,  dorbug  of  the  water,  blunders  clumsily  against  it ; 
the  tadpole  wriggles  his  stupid  way  to  it,  and  rests  upon 
it,  meditating  of  future  frogdom ;  the  passing  wild-duck 
dives  and  nibbles  at  it ;  the  mink  and  muskrat  brush  it 
with  their  soft  fur  ;  the  spotted  turtle  slides  over  it ;  the 
slow  larvae  of  gauzy  dragon-flies  cling  sleepily  to  its  sides 
and  await  their  change :  all  these  fair  or  uncouth  crea- 
tures feel,  through  the  dim  waves,  the  blessed  longing  of 
spring  ;  and  yet  not  one  of  them  dreams  that  within  that 


272  WATER-LILIES. 

murky  mass  there  lies  a  treasure  too  white  and  beautiful 
to  be  yet  intrusted  to  the  waves,  and  that  for  many  a  day 
the  bud  mu?t  yearn  toward  the  surface,  before,  aspiring 
above  it,  as  mortals  to  heaven,  it  meets  the  sunshine  with 
the  answering  beauty  of  the  Water-Lily. 

Days  and  weeks  have  passed  away ;  the  wild-duck  has 
flown  onward,  to  dive  for  his  luncheon  in  some  remoter 
lake ;  the  tadpoles  have  made  themselves  legs,  with  which 
they  have  vanished ;  the  caddis-worms  have  sealed  them- 
selves up  in  their  cylinders,  and  emerged  again  as  winged 
insects ;  the  dragon-flies  have  crawled  up  the  water-reeds, 
and,  clinging  with  heads  upturned,  have  undergone  the 
change  which  symbolizes  immortality ;  the  world  is  trans- 
formed from  spring  to  summer ;  the  lily-buds  are  opened 
into  glossy  leaf  and  radiant  flower,  and  we  have  come  for 
the  harvest. 

We  visitors  lodged,  last  night,  in  the  old  English 
phrase,  "at  the  sign  of  the  Oak  and  Star."  Wishing, 
not,  indeed,  like  the  ancient  magicians,  to  gather  magic 
berry  and  bud  before  sunrise,  but  at  least  to  see  these 
treasures  of  the  lake  in  their  morning  hour,  we  camped 
last  night  on  a  little  island,  which  one  tall  tree  almost 
covers  with  its  branches,  while  a  dense  undergrowth  of 
young  chestnuts  and  birches  fills  all  the  intervening  space, 
touching  the  water  all  around  the  circular,  shelving  shore. 
Yesterday  was  hot,  but  the  night  was  cool,  and  we  kin- 
dled a  gypsy  fire  of  twigs,  less  for  warmth  than  for 
society.  The  first  gleam  made  the  dark,  lonely  islet  into 
a  cheering  home,  turned  the  protecting  tree  to  a  starlit 
roof,  and  the  chestnut-sprays  to  illuminated  walls.  To 
us,  lying  beneath  their  shelter,  every  fresh  flickering  of 
the  fire  kindled  the  leaves  into  brightness  and  banished 
into  dark  interstices  the  lake  and  sky  ;  then  the  fire  died 


WATER-LILIES.  273 

into  embers,  the  leaves  faded  into  solid  darkness  in  their 
turn,  and  water  and  heavens  showed  light  and  close  and 
near,  until  fresh  twigs  caught  fire  and  the  blaze  came  up 
again.  Rising  to  look  forth,  at  intervals,  during  the 
peaceful  hours,  —  for  it  is  the  worst  feature  of  a  night 
out-doors,  that  sleeping  seems  such  a  waste  of  time,  — 
we  watched  the  hilly  and  wooded  shores  of  the  lake  sink 
into  gloom  and  glimmer  into  dawn  again,  amid  the  low 
plash  of  waters  and  the  noises  of  the  night. 

Precisely  at  half  past  three,  a  song-sparrow  above  our 
heads  gave  one  liquid  trill,  so  inexpressibly  sudden  and 
delicious,  that  it  seemed  to  set  to  music  every  atom  of 
freshness  and  fragrance  that  Nature  held  ;  then  the  spell 
was  broken,  and  the  whole  shore  and  lake  were  vocal 
with  song.  Joining  in  this  jubilee  of  morning,  we  were 
early  in  motion ;  bathing  and  breakfast,  though  they 
seemed  indisputably  in  accordance  with  the  instincts  of 
the  Universe,  yet  did  not  detain  us  long,  and  we  were 
promptly  on  our  way  to  Lily  Pond.  Will  the  reader 
join  us  ? 

It  is  one  of  those  summer  days  when  a  veil  of  mist 
gradually  burns  away  before  the  intense  sunshine,  and 
the  sultry  morning  only  plays  at  coolness,  and  that  with 
its  earliest  visitors  alone.  But  we  are  before  the  sunlight, 
though  not  before  the  sunrise,  and  can  watch  the  pretty 
game  of  alternating  mist  and  shine.  Stray  gleams  of 
glory  lend  their  trailing  magnificence  to  the  tops  of  chest- 
nut-trees, floating  vapors  raise  the  outlines  of  the  hills 
and  make  mystery  of  the  wooded  islands,  and,  as  we  glide 
through  the  placid  water,  we  can  sing,  with  the  Chorus 
in  the  "  Ion "  of  Euripides,  "  0  immense  and  brilliant 
air,  resound  with  our  cries  of  joy ! " 

Almost  every  town  has  its  Lily  Pond,  dear  to  boys 
12*  a 


274  WATER-LILIES. 

and  maidens,  and  partially  equalizing,  by  its  annual  de- 
lights, the  "presence  or  absence  of  other  geographical 
advantages.  Ours  is  accessible  from  the  larger  lake  only 
by  taking  the  skiff  over  a  narrow  embankment,  which 
protects  our  fairy-land  by  its  presence,  and  eight  distant 
factories  by  its  dam.  Once  beyond  it,  we  are  in  a  realm 
of  dark  Lethean  water,  utterly  unlike  the  sunny  depths 
of  the  main  lake.  Hither  the  water-lilies  have  retreated, 
to  a  domain  of  their  own.  In  the  bosom  of  these  shallow 
waves,  there  stand  hundreds  of  submerged  and  dismasted 
roots,  still  upright,  spreading  their  vast,  uncouth  limbs 
like  enormous  spiders  beneath  the  surface.  They  are 
remnants  of  border  wars  with  the  axe,  vegetable  Wither- 
ingtons,  still  fighting  on  their  stumps,  but  gradually  sink- 
ing into  the  soft  ooze,  and  ready,  perhaps,  when  a  score 
of  centuries  has  piled  two  more  strata  of  similar  remains 
in  mud  above  them,  to  furnish  foundations  for  a  newer 
New  Orleans  ;  that  city  having  been  lately  discovered  to 
be  thus  supported. 

The  present  decline  in  the  manufacturing  business  is 
clear  revenue  to  the  water-lilies,  and  these  ponds  art 
higher  than  usual,  because  the  idle  mills  do  not  draw  them 
off.  But  we  may  notice,  in  observing  the  shores,  that  pe- 
culiar charm  of  water,  that,  whether  its  quantity  be  greater 
or  less,  its  grace  is  the  same  ;  it  makes  its  own  boundary 
in  lake  or  river,  and  where  its  edge  is,  there  seems  the 
natural  and  permanent  margin.  And  the  same  natural 
fitness,  without  reference  to  mere  quantity,  extends  to  its 
flowery  children.  Before  us  lie  islands  and  continents  of 
lilies,  acres  of  charms,  whole,  vast,  unbroken  surfaces  of 
stainless  whiteness.  And  yet,  as  we  approach  them,  every 
islanded  cup  that  floats  in  lonely  dignity,  apart  from  the 
multitude,  appears  as  perfect  in  itself,  couched  in  whit*? 


WATER-LILIES.  275 

expanded  perfection,  its  reflection  taking  a  faint  glory  of 
pink  that  is  scarcely  perceptible  in  the  flower.  .  As  we 
glide  gently  among  them,  the  air  grows  fragrant,  and  a 
stray  breeze  flaps  the  leaves,  as  if  to  welcome  us.  Each 
floating  flower  becomes  suddenly  a  ship  at  anchor,  or 
rather  seems  beating  up  against  the  summer  wind,  in  a 
regatta  of  blossoms. 

Early  as  it  is  in  the  day,  the  greater  part  of  the  flowers 
are  already  expanded.  Indeed,  that  experience  of  Tho- 
reau's,  of  watching  them  open  in  the  first  sunbeams,  rank 
by  rank,  is  not  easily  obtained,  unless  perhaps  in  a  nar- 
row stream,  where  the  beautiful  slumberers  are  more 
regularly  marshalled.  In  our  lake,  at  least,  they  open 
irregularly,  though  rapidly.  But,  this  morning,  many 
linger  as  buds,  while  others  peer  up,  in  half-expanded 
beauty,  beneath  the  lifted  leaves,  frolicsome  as  Pucks  or 
baby-nymphs.  As  you  raise  the  leaf,  in  such  cases,  it  is 
impossible  not  to  imagine  that  a  pair  of  tiny  hands  have 
upheld  it,  and  that  the  pretty  head  will  dip  down  again, 
and  disappear.  Others,  again,  have  expanded  all  but  the 
inmost  pair  of  white  petals,  and  these  spring  apart  at  the 
first  touch  of  the  finger  on  the  stem.  Some  spread  vast 
vases  of  fragrance,  six  or  seven  inches  in  diameter,  while 
others  are  small  and  delicate,  with  petals  like  fine  lace- 
work.  Smaller  still,  we  sometimes  pass  a  flotilla  of 
infant  leaves,  an  inch  in  diameter.  All  these  grow  from 
the  dark  water,  —  and  the  blacker  it  is,  the  fairer  their 
whiteness  shows.  But  your  eye  follows  the  stem  often 
vainly  into  those  sombre  depths,  and  vainly  seeks  to 
behold  Sabrina  fair,  sitting  with  her  twisted  braids  of 
lilies,  beneath  the  glassy,  cool,  but  not  translucent  wave 
Do  not  start,  when,  in  such  an  effort,  only  your  own 
dreamy  face  looks  back  upon  you,  beyond  the  gunwale 


27(3  WATER-LILIES. 

of  the  reflected  boat,  and  you  find  that  you  float  double 
self  and  shadow. 

Let  us  rest  our  paddles,  and  look  round  us,  while  the 
idle  motion  sways  our  light  skiff  onward,  now  half  em- 
bayed among  the  lily-pads,  now  lazily  gliding  over  inter- 
vening gulfs.  There  is  a  great  deal  going  on  in  these 
waters  and  their  fringing  woods  and  meadows.  All  the 
summer  long,  the  pond  is  bordered  with  successive  walls 
of  flowers.  In  early  spring  emerge  the  yellow  catkins  of 
the  swamp-willow,  first ;  then  the  long  tassels  of  the  grace- 
ful alders  expand  and  droop,  till  they  weep  their  yellow 
dust  upon  the  water ;  then  come  the  birch-blossoms,  more 
tardily ;  then  the  downy  leaves  and  white  clusters  of  the 
medlar  or  shad-bush  (Amelanchier  Canadensis  of  Gray)  ; 
these  dropping,  the  roseate  chalices  of  the  mountain-laurel 
open;  as  they  fade  into  melancholy  brown,  the  sweet 
Azalea  uncloses ;  and  before  its  last  honeyed  blossom  has 
trailed  down,  dying,  from  the  stem,  the  more  fragrant 
Clethra  starts  out  above,  the  button-bush  thrusts  forth  its 
merry  face  amid  wild  roses,  and  the  Clematis  waves  its 
sprays  of  beauty.  Mingled  with  these  grow,  lower,  the 
spiraeas,  white  and  pink,  yellow  touch-me-not,  fresh  white 
arrowhead,  bright  blue  vervain  and  skullcap,  dull  snake- 
head,  gay  monkey-flower,  coarse  eupatoriums,  milkweeds, 
golden-rods,  asters,  thistles,  and  a  host  beside.  Beneath, 
the  brilliant  scarlet  cardinal-flower  begins  to  palisade  the 
moist  shores;  and  after  its  superb  reflection  has  passed 
away  from  the  waters,  the  grotesque  witch-hazel  flares 
out  its  narrow  yellow  petals  amidst  the  October  leaves, 
and  so  ends  the  floral  year.  There  is  not  a  week  during 
all  these  months,  when  one  cannot  stand  in  the  boat  and 
wreathe  garlands  of  blossoms  from  the  shores. 

These  all  crowd  around  the  brink,  and  watch,  day  and 


WATER-LILIES.  277 

night,  the  opening  and  closing  of  the  water-lilies.  Mean- 
while, upon  the  waters,  our  queen  keeps  her  chosen  court, 
nor  can  one  of  these  mere  land-loving  blossoms  touch 
the  hem  of  her  garment.  In  truth,  she  bears  no  sister 
near  her  throne.  There  is  but  this  one  species  among 
us,  Nympfuza  odorata.  The  beautiful  little  rose-colored 
Nymphcea  sanguined,  which  once  adorned  the  Botanic 
Garden  at  Cambridge,  was  merely  an  occasional  variety 
of  costume.  She  has,  indeed,  an  English  half-sister, 
Nymphcea  alba,  less  beautiful,  less  fragrant,  but  keeping 
more  fashionable  hours,  —  not  opening  (according  to  Lin- 
naeus) till  seven,  nor  closing  till  four.  And  she  has  a 
humble  cousin,  the  yellow  Nuphar,  who  keeps  commonly 
aloof,  as  becomes  a  poor  relation,  though  created  from 
the  self-same  mud,  —  a  fact  which  Hawthorne  has  beau- 
tifully moralized.  The  prouder  Nelumbium,  a  second- 
cousin,  lineal  descendant  of  the  sacred  bean  of  Pythago- 
ras, has  fallen  to  an  obscurer  position,  and  dwells,  like  a 
sturdy  democrat,  in  the  Far  West. 

But,  undisturbed,  the  water-lily  reigns  on,  with  her 
retinue  around  her.  The  tall  pickerel-weed  (Pontede- 
ria)  is  her  gentleman-usher,  gorgeous  in  blue  and  gold 
through  July,  somewhat  rusty  in  August.  The  water- 
shield  (Hydropeltis)  is  chief  maid-of-honor ;  a  high-born 
lady  she,  not  without  royal  blood  indeed,  but  with  rather 
a  bend  sinister ;  not  precisely  beautiful,  but  very  fastid- 
ious; encased  over  her  whole  person  with  a  gelatinous 
covering,  literally  a  starched  duenna.  Sometimes  she  is 
suspected  of  conspiring  to  drive  her  mistress  from  the 
throne ;  for  we  have  observed  certain  slow  watercourses 
where  the  leaves  of  the  water-lily  have  been  almost 
wholly  replaced,  in  a  series  of  years,  by  the  similar,  but 
smaller,  leaves  of  the  water-shield.  More  rarely  seen  is 


278  WATER-LILIES. 

the  slender  Utricularia,  a  dainty  maiden,  whose  light  feet 
scarce  touch  the  water,  —  with  the  still  more  delicate 
floating  white  "Water- Ranunculus,  and  the  shy  Villarsia, 
whose  submerged  flowers  merely  peep  one  day  above 
the  surface  and  then  close  again  forever.  Then  there 
are  many  humbler  attendants,  Potamogetons  or  pond- 
weeds.  And  here  float  little  emissaries  from  the  domin- 
ions of  land ;  for  the  fallen  florets  of  the  Viburnum  drift 
among  the  lily-pads,  with  mast-like  stamens  erect,  sprink- 
ling the  water  with  a  strange  beauty,  and  cheating  us 
with  the  promise  of  a  new  aquatic  flower. 

These  are  the  still  life  of  this  sequestered  nook ;  but 
it  is  in  fact  a  crowded  thoroughfare.  No  tropic  jungle 
more  swarms  with  busy  existence  than  these  midsummer 
waters  and  their  bushy  banks.  The  warm  and  humming 
air  is  filled  with  insect  sounds,  ranging  from  the  murmur 
of  invisible  gnats  and  midges,  to  the  impetuous  whirring 
of  the  great  Libellulae,  large  almost  as  swallows,  and 
hawking  high  in  air  for  their  food.  Swift  butterflies 
glance  by,  moths  flutter,  flies  buzz,  grasshoppers  and  katy- 
dids pipe  their  shrill  notes,  sharp  as  the  edges  of  the  sun- 
beams. Busy  bees  go  humming  past,  straight  as  arrows, 
express-freight-trains  from  one  blossoming  copse  to  an- 
other. Showy  wasps  of  many  species  fume  uselessly 
about,  in  gallant  uniforms,  wasting  an  immense  deal  of 
unnecessary  anger  on  the  sultry  universe.  Graceful, 
stingless  Sphexes  and  Ichneumon-flies  emulate  their  bustle, 
without  their  weapons.  Delicate  lady-birds  come  and 
go  to  the  milkweeds,  spotted  almost  as  regularly  as  if  Na- 
ture had  decided  to  number  the  species,  like  policemen 
or  hack-drivers,  from  one  to  twenty.  Elegant  little  Lep- 
turae  fly  with  them,  so  gay  and  airy,  they  hardly  seem 
like  beetles.  Phryganeas  (nes  caddis- worms),  lace-flies, 


WATER-LILIES.  279 

and  long-tailed  Ephemerae  flutter  more  heavily  by.  On 
the  large  alder-flowers  clings  the  superb  Desmocerus  pcd- 
liatus,  beautiful  as  a  tropical  insect,  with  his  eteel-blue 
armor  and  his  golden  cloak  (pallium)  above  his  shoul- 
ders, grandest  knight  on  this  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold. 
The  countless  fire-flies  which  spangled  the  evening  mist 
now  only  crawl  sleepily,  dayh'ght  creatures,  with  the 
lustre  buried  in  their  milky  bodies.  More  wholly  chil- 
dren of  night,  the  soft,  luxurious  Sphinxes  (or  hawk- 
moths)  come  not  here;  fine  ladies  of  the  insect  world, 
their  home  is  among  gardens  and  green-houses,  late  and 
languid  by  day,  but  all  night  long  upon  the  wing,  dancing 
in  the  air  with  unwearied  muscles  till  long  past  midnight, 
and  supping  on  honey  at  last.  They  come  not ;  but  the 
nobler  butterflies  soar  above  us,  stoop  a  moment  to  the 
water,  and  then  with  a  few  lazy  wavings  of  their  sumptu- 
ous wings  float  far  over  the  oak-trees  to  the  woods  they 
love. 

All  these  hover  near  the  water-lily;  but  its  special 
parasites  are  an  enamelled  beetle  (Donacia  metattica) 
which  keeps  house  permanently  in  the  flower,  and  a  few 
smaller  ones  which  tenant  the  surface  of  the  leaves, — 
larva,  pupa,  and  perfect  insect,  forty  feeding  like  one,  and 
each  leading  its  whole  earthly  career  on  this  floating 
island  of  perishable  verdure.  The  "  beautiful  blue  dam- 
sel-flies "  alight  also  in  multitudes  among  them,  so  fear- 
less that  they  perch  with  equal  readiness  on  our  boat  or 
padile,  and  so  various  that  two  adjacent  ponds  will 
sometimes  be  haunted  by  two  distinct  sets  of  species.  In 
the  water,  among  the  leaves,  little  shining  whirlwigs 
wheel  round  and  round,  fifty  joining  in  the  dance,  till, 
at  the  slightest  alarm,  they  whirl  away  to  some  safer 
ball-room,  and  renew  the  merriment.  On  every  floating 


280  WATER-LILIES. 

log,  as  we  approach  it,  there  is  a  convention  of  turtles, 
sitting  in  calm  debate,  like  mailed  barons,  till,  as  we  draw 
near,  they  plump  into  the  water,  and  paddle  away  for 
some  subaqueous  Runnymede.  Beneath,  the  shy  and 
stately  pickerel  vanishes  at  a  glance,  shoals  of  minnows 
glide,  black  and  bearded  pouts  frisk  aimlessly,  soft  water- 
newts  hang  poised  without  motion,  and  slender  pickerel- 
frogs  cease  occasionally  their  submerged  croaking,  and, 
darting  to  the  surface  with  swift  vertical  strokes,  gulp  a 
mouthful  of  fresh  air,  and  down  again  to  renew  the 
moist  soliloquy. 

Time  would  fail  us  to  tell  of  the  feathered  life  around 
us,  —  the  blackbirds  that  build  securely  hi  these  thickets, 
the  stray  swallows  that  dip  their  wings  in  the  quiet  wa- 
ters, and  the  kingfishers  that  still  bring,  as  the  ancients 
fabled,  halcyon  days.  Tender  stands,  against  the  shore, 
a  bittern,  motionless  in  that  wreath  of  mist  which  makes 
his  long-legged  person  almost  as  dun  as  his  far-off  boom- 
ing by  night.  There  poises  a  hawk,  before  sweeping 
down  to  some  chosen  bough  hi  the  dense  forest ;  and 
there  fly  a  pair  of  blue-jays,  screaming,  from  tree  to  tree. 
As  for  wild  quadrupeds,  the  race  is  almost  passed  away. 
Far  to  the  north,  indeed,  the  great  moose  still  browses  on 
the  lily-pads,  and  the  shy  beaver  nibbles  them ;  but  here 
the  few  lingering  four-footed  creatures  only  haunt,  but  do 
not  graze  upon,  these  floating  pastures.  Eyes  more  fa- 
vored than  ours  may  yet  chance  to  spy  an  otter  in  this 
still  place ;  there  by  the  shore  are  the  small  footprints  of 
a  mink  ;  that  dark  thing  disappearing  in  the  waters  yon- 
der, a  soft  mass  of  drowned  fur,  is  a  "  musquash."  Later 
in  the  season,  a  mound  of  earth  will  be  his  whiter  dwell- 
ing-place ;  and  those  myriad  muscle-shells  at  the  water's 
edge  are  the  remnant  of  his  banquets,  —  once  banquets 
for  the  Indians,  too. 


WATER-LILIES.  281 

But  we  must  return  to  our  lilies.  There  is  no  sense 
of  wealth  like  floating  hi  this  archipelago  of  white  and 
green.  The  emotions  of  avarice  become  almost  demoral- 
izing. Every  flower  bears  a  fragrant  California  in  its 
bosom,  and  you  feel  impoverished  at  the  thought  of  leav- 
ing one  behind.  But  after  the  first  half-hour  of  eager 
grasping,  one  becomes  fastidious,  rather  avoids  those  on 
which  the  wasps  and  flies  have  alighted,  and  seeks  only 
the  stainless.  But  handle  them  tenderly,  as  if  you  loved 
them.  Do  not  grasp  at  the  open  flower  as  if  it  were  a 
peony  or  a  hollyhock,  for  then  it  will  come  off,  stalkless, 
hi  your  hand,  and  you  will  cast  it  blighted  upon  the 
water ;  but  coil  your  thumb  and  second  finger  affection- 
ately around  it,  press  the  extended  forefinger  firmly  to 
the  stem  below,  and,  with  one  steady  pull,  you  will  secure 
a  long  and  delicate  stalk,  fit  to  twine  around  the  graceful 
head  of  your  beloved,  as  the  Hindoo  goddess  of  beauty- 
encircled  with  a  Lotus  the  brow  of  Rama. 

Consider  the  lilies.  All  over  our  rural  watercourses, 
at  midsummer,  float  these  cups  of  snow.  They  are  Na- 
ture's symbols  of  coolness.  They  suggest  to  us  the  white 
garments  of  their  Oriental  worshippers.  They  come  with 
the  white  roses,  and  prepare  the  way  for  the  white  lilies 
of  the  garden.  The  white  doe  of  Rylstone  and  Andrew 
Marvell's  fawn  might  fitly  bathe  amid  their  beauties. 
Yonder  steep  bank  slopes  down  to  the  lake-side,  one  solid 
mass  of  pale  pink  laurel,  but,  once  upon  the  water,  a 
purer  tint  prevails.  The  pink  fades  into  a  lingering  flush, 
and  the  white  creature  floats  peerless,  set  in  green  with- 
out and  gold  within.  That  bright  circle  of  stamens  is  the 
very  ring  with  which  Doges  once  wedded  the  Adriatic ; 
Venice  has  lost  it,  but  it  dropped  into  the  water-lily's 
bosom,  and  there  it  rests  forever.  So  perfect  in  form,  so 


232  WATER-LILIES. 

redundant  in  beauty,  so  delicate,  so  spotless,  so  fragrant, 
—  what  presumptuous  lover  ever  dared,  in  his  most  en- 
amored hour,  to  liken  his  mistress  to  a  water-lily  ?  No 
human  Blanche  or  Lilian  was  ever  so  fair  as  that. 

The  water-lily  comes  of  an  ancient  and  sacred  family 
of  white-robed  priests.  They  assisted  at  the  most  mo- 
mentous religious  ceremonies,  from  the  beginning  of  re- 
corded time.  The  Egyptian  Lotus  was  a  sacred  plant ; 
it  was  dedicated  to  Harpocrates  and  to  the  god  Nofr 
Atmoo,  —  Nofr  meaning  good,  whence  the  name  of  our 
yellow  lily,  Nuphar.  But  the  true  Egyptian  flower  was 
Nymphcea  Lotus,  though  Nymphcea  c&rulea,  Moore's  "  blue 
water-lilies,"  can  be  traced  on  the  sculptures  also.  It  was 
cultivated  in  tanks  in  the  gardens ;  it  was  the  chief  ma- 
terial for  festal  wreaths  ;  a  single  bud  hung  over  the 
forehead  of  many  a  queenly  dame ;  and  the  sculptures 
represent  the  weary  flowers  as  dropping  from  the  heated 
hands  of  belles,  in  the  later  hours  of  the  feast.  Rock 
softly  on  the  waters,  fair  lilies!  your  Eastern  kindred 
have  rocked  on  the  stormier  bosom  of  Cleopatra.  The 
Egyptian  Lotus  was,  moreover,  the  emblem  of  the  sacred 
Nile,  —  as  the  Hindoo  species,  of  the  sacred  Ganges ;  and 
each  was  held  the  symbol  of  the  creation  of  the  world 
from  the  waters.  The  sacred  bull  Apis  was  wreathed 
with  its  garlands ;  there  were  niches  for  water,  to  place 
it  among  tombs ;  it  was  carved  in  the  capitals  of  columns ; 
it  was  represented  on  plates  and  vases ;  the  sculptures 
show  it  hi  many  sacred  uses,  even  as  a  burnt-offering ; 
Isis  holds  it ;  and  the  god  Nilus  still  binds  a  wreath  of 
water-lilies  around  the  throne  of  Memnon. 

From  Egypt  the  Lotus  was  carried  to  Assyria,  and 
Layard  found  it  among  fir-cones  and  honeysuckles  on  the 
later  sculptures  of  Nineveh.  The  Greeks  dedicated  it  to 


WATER-LILIES.  283 

the  nymphs,  whence  the  name  Nymphaa.  Nor  did  the 
Romans  disregard  it,  though  the  Lotus  to  which  Ovid's 
nymph  Lotis  was  changed,  servato  nomine,  was  a  tree, 
and  not  a  flower.  Still  different  a  thing  was  the  en 
chanted  stem  of  the  Lotus-eaters  of  Herodotus,  which 
prosaic  botanists  have  reduced  to  the  Zizyphus  Lotus 
found  by  Mungo  Park,  translating  also  the  yellow  Lotus- 
dust  into  a  mere  "  farina,  tasting  like  sweet  gingerbread." 
But  in  the  Lotus  of  Hindostan  we  find  our  flower 
again,  and  the  Oriental  sacred  books  are  cool  with  water- 
lilies.  Open  the  Vishuu  Purana  at  any  page,  and  it  is  a 
Sortes  LiliantB.  The  orb  of  the  earth  is  Lotus-shaped, 
and  is  upborne  by  the  tusks  of  Vesava,  as  if  he  had  been 
sporting  in  a  lake  where  the  leaves  and  blossoms  float. 
Brahma,  first  incarnation  of  Vishnu,  creator  of  the  world, 
was  born  from  a  Lotus ;  so  was  Sri  or  Lakshmu,  the 
Hindoo  Venus,  goddess  of  beauty  and  prosperity,  protec- 
tress of  womanhood,  whose  worship  guards  the  house  from 
all  danger.  "  Seated  on  a  full-blown  Lotus,  and  holding 
a  Lotus  in  her  hand,  the  goddess  Sri,  radiant  with  beauty, 
rose  from  the  waves."  The  Lotus  is  the  chief  ornament 
of  the  subterranean  Eden,  Patala,  and  the  holy  mountain 
Meru  is  thought  to  be  shaped  like  its  seed-vessel,  larger 
at  summit  than  at  base.  When  the  heavenly  Urvasi  fled 
from  her  earthly  spouse,  PuruYavas,  he  found  her  sporting 
with  four  nymphs  of  heaven,  in  a  lake  beautified  with  the 
Lotus.  When  the  virtuous  Prahlada  was  burned  at  the 
stake,  he  cried  to  his  cruel  father,  "  The  fire  burneth  me 
not,  and  all  around  I  behold  the  face  of  the  sky,  cool  and 
fragrant  with  beds  of  Lotus-flowers !  "  Above  all,  the 
graceful  history  of  the  transformations  of  Krishna  is 
everywhere  hung  with  these  fresh  chaplets.  Every  suc- 
cessive maiden  whom  the  deity  wooes  is  Lotus-eyed, 


284  WATER-LILIES. 

Lotus-mouthed,  or  Lotus-cheeked,  and  the  youthful  hero 
wears  always  a  Lotus-wreath.  Also  "  the  clear  sky  was 
bright  with  the  autumnal  moon,  and  the  air  fragrant  with 
the  perfume  of  the  wild  water-lily,  in  whose  buds  the 
clustering  bees  were  murmuring  their  song." 

Elsewhere  we  find  fuller  details.  a  In  the  primordial 
state  of  the  world,  the  rudimental  universe,  submerged  in 
water,  reposed  on  the  bosom  of  the  Eternal.  Brahma, 
the  architect  of  the  world,  poised  on  a  Lotus-leaf,  floated 
upon  the  waters,  and  all  that  he  was  able  to  discern  with 
his  eight  eyes  was  water  and  darkness.  Amid  scenes  so 
ungenial  and  dismal,  the  god  sank  into  a  profound  rev- 
erie, when  he  thus  soliloquized :  '  Who  am  I  ?  Whence 
am  I  ? '  In  this  state  of  abstraction  Brahma  continued 
during  the  period  of  a  century  and  a  half  of  the  gods, 
without  apparent  benefit  or  a  solution  of  his  inquiries,  — 
a  circumstance  which  caused  him  great  uneasiness  of 
mind."  It  is  a  comfort,  however,  to  know  that  subse- 
quently a  voice  came  to  him,  on  which  he  rose,  "  seated 
himself  upon  the  Lotus  in  an  attitude  of  contemplation, 
and  reflected  upon  the  Eternal,  who  soon  appeared  to  him 
in  the  form  of  a  man  with  a  thousand  heads,"  —  a  ques- 
tionable exchange  for  his  Lotus-solitude. 

This  is  Brahminism ;  but  the  other  great  form  of  Ori- 
ental religion  has  carried  the  same  fair  symbol  with  it. 
One  of  the  Bibles  of  the  Buddhists  is  named  "  The  White 
Lotus  of  the  Good  Law."  A  pious  Nepaulese  bowed  in 
reverence  before  a  vase  of  lilies  which  perfumed  the 
study  of  Sir  William  Jones.  At  sunset  in  Thibet,  the 
French  missionaries  tell  us,  every  inhabitant  of  every 
village  prostrates  himself  in  the  public  square,  and  the 
holy  invocation,  "  0,  the  gem  in  the  Lotus ! "  goes  mur- 
muring over  hill  and  valley,  like  the  sound  of  many  bees. 


WA  TEE-LILIES.  285 

It  is  no  unmeaning  phrase,  but  an  utterance  of  ardent 
desire  to  be  absorbed  into  that  Brahma  whose  emblem  is 
the  sacred  flower.  This  mystic  formula  or  "mani"  is 
imprinted  on  the  pavement  of  the  streets,  it  floats  on 
flags  from  the  temples,  and  the  wealthy  Buddhists  main- 
tain sculptor-missionaries,  Old  Mortalities  of  the  water- 
lily,  who,  wandering  to  distant  lands,  carve  the  blessed 
words  upon  cliff  and  stone. 

Having  got  thus  far  into  Orientalism,  we  can  hardly 
expect  to  get  out  again  without  some  slight  entanglement 
in  philology.  Lily-pads.  Whence  pads?  No  other 
leaf  is  identified  with  that  singular  monosyllable.  Has 
our  floating  Lotus-leaf  any  connection  with  padding,  or 
with  a  footpad?  with  the  ambling  pad  of  an  abbot,  or 
a  paddle,  or  a  paddock,  or  a  padlock  ?  with  many-dome'd 
Padua  proud,  or  with  St.  Patrick  ?  Is  the  name  derived 
from  the  Anglo-Saxon  paad  or  pettkian,  or  the  Greek 
jrareo)?  All  the  etymologists  are  silent;  Tooke  and 
Richardson  ignore  the  problem;  and  of  the  innumerable 
pamphlets  in  the  Worcester  and  Webster  Controversy, 
loading  the  tables  of  school-committee-men,  not  one  ven- 
tures to  grapple  with  the  lily-pad. 

But  was  there  ever  a  philological  trouble  for  which  the 
Sanscrit  could  not  afford  at  least  a  conjectural  cure  ?  A 
dictionary  of  that  extremely  venerable  tongue  is  an  os- 
trich's stomach,  which  can  crack  the  hardest  etymological 
nut.  The  Sanscrit  name  for  the  Lotus  is  simply  Padma. 
The  learned  Brahmins  call  the  Egyptian  deities  Padma 
Devi,  or  Lotus-Gods ;  the  second  of  the  eighteen  Hindoo 
Puranas  is  styled  the  Padma  Parana,  because  it  treats 
of  the  "  epoch  when  the  world  was  a  golden  Lotus  " ;  and 
the  sacred  incantation  which  goes  murmuring  through 
Thibet  is  "  Om  mani  padme  houm."  It  would  be  singu« 


286  WATER-LILIES. 

lar,  if  upon  these  delicate  floating  leaves  a  fragment  of 
our  earliest  vernacular  has  been  borne  down  to  us,  so 
that  here  the  school-boy  is  more  learned  than  the  savans 

This  lets  us  down  easily  to  the  more  familiar  uses  of 
this  plant  divine.  By  the  Nile,  in  early  days,  the  water- 
lily  was  good  not  merely  for  devotion,  but  for  diet. 
"  From  the  seeds  of  the  Lotus,"  said  Pliny,  « the  Egyp- 
tians make  bread."  The  Hindoos  still  eat  the  seeds, 
roasted  in  sand;  also  the  stalks  and  roots.  In  South 
America,  from  the  seeds  of  the  Victoria  (Nymphcea  Vic- 
toria, now  Victoria  Regia)  a  farina  is  made,  preferred  to 
that  of  the  finest  wheat,  —  Bonpland  even  suggesting  to 
our  reluctant  imagination  Victoria-pies.  But  the  Euro- 
pean species  are  used,  so  far  as  is  reported,  only  in  dye- 
ing, and  as  food  (if  the  truth  be  told)  of  swine.  Our 
own  water-lily  is  rather  more  powerful  in  its  uses;  the 
root  contains  tannin  and  gallic  acid,  and  a  decoction  of  it 
*  gives  a  black  precipitate,  with  sulphate  of  iron."  It 
graciously  consents  to  become  an  astringent,  and  a  styp- 
tic, and  a  poultice,  and,  banished  from  all  other  temples, 
still  lingers  in  those  of  ^Esculapius. 

The  botanist  also  finds  his  special  satisfactions  in  the 
flower.  It  has  some  strange  peculiarities  of  structure. 
So  loose  is  the  internal  distribution  of  its  tissues,  that  it 
was  for  some  time  held  doubtful  to  which  of  the  two 
great  vegetable  divisions,  exogenous  or  endogenous,  it 
belonged.  Its  petals,  moreover,  furnish  the  best  example 
of  the  gradual  transition  of  petals  into  stamens,  —  illus- 
trating that  wonderful  law  of  identity  which  is  the  great 
discovery  of  modern  science.  Every  child  knows  this 
peculiarity  of  the  water-lily,  but  the  extent  of  it  seems 
to  vary  with  season  and  locality,  and  sometimes  one  finds 
a  succession  of  flowers  almost  entirely  free  from  this  con- 
fusion of  organs. 


WATER-LILIES.  287 

The  reader  may  not  care  to  learn  that  the  order  of 
Nymphaeacese  "differs  from  Ranunculaceae  in  the  con- 
solidation of  its  carpels,  from  Papaveraceae  in  the  pla- 
centation  not  being  parietal,  and  from  Nelumbiaceae  in 
the  want  of  a  large  truncated  disc  containing  monosper- 
mous  achenia";  but  they  may  like  to  know  that  the 
water-lily  has  relations  on  land,  in  all  gradations  of 
society,  from  poppy  to  magnolia,  and  yet  does  not  con- 
form its  habits  precisely  to  those  of  any  of  them.  Its 
great  black  roots,  sometimes  as  large  as  a  man's  arm, 
form  a  network  at  the  bottom  of  the  water.  Its  stem 
floats,  an  airy  four-celled  tube,  adapting  itself  to  the 
depth,  and  stiff  in  shallows,  like  the  stalk  of  the  yellow 
lily:  and  it  contracts  and  curves  downward  when  seed- 
time approaches.  The  leaves  show  beneath  the  magnifier 
beautiful  adaptations  of  structure.  They  are  not,  like 
those  of  land-plants,  constructed  with  deep  veins  to  re- 
ceive the  rain  and  conduct  it  to  the  stem,  but  are  smooth 
and  glossy,  and  of  even  surface.  The  leaves  of  land- 
vegetation  have  also  thousands  of  little  breathing-pores, 
principally  on  the  under  side :  the  apple-leaf,  for  instance, 
has  twenty-four  thousand  to  a  square  inch.  But  here 
they  are  fewer ;  they  are  wholly  on  the  upper  side,  and, 
whereas  in  other  cases  they  open  or  shut  according  to 
the  moisture  of  the  atmosphere,  here  the  greedy  leaves, 
secure  of  moisture,  scarcely  deign  to  close  them.  Never- 
theless, even  these  give  some  recognition  of  hygrometric 
necessities,  and,  though  living  on  the  water,  and  not 
merely  christened  with  dewdrops  like  other  leaves,  but 
baptized  by  immersion  all  the  time,  they  are  yet  known 
to  suffer  in  drought  and  to  take  pleasure  in  the  rain. 

After  speaking  of  the  various  kindred  of  the  water- 
lily,  it  would  be  wrong  to  leave  our  fragrant  subject  with- 


288  WATER-LILIES. 

out  dut>  mention  of  its  most  magnificent,  most  lovely  rela- 
tive, at  first  claimed  even  as  its  twin  sister,  and  classed 
as  a  Nymphaea.  I  once  lived  near  neighbor  to  a  Vic- 
toria Regia.  Nothing  in  the  world  of  vegetable  exist- 
ence has  such  a  human  interest.  The  charm  is  not  in 
the  mere  size  of  the  plant,  which  disappoints  everybody, 
as  Niagara  does,  when  tried  by  that  sole  standard.  The 
leaves  of  the  Victoria,  indeed,  attain  a  diameter  of  six 
feet;  the  largest  flowers,  of  twenty-three  inches,  —  four 
tunes  the  size  of  the  largest  of  our  water-lilies.  But  it 
is  not  the  measurements  of  the  Victoria,  it  is  its  life 
which  fascinates.  It  is  not  a  thing  merely  of  dimensions, 
nor  merely  of  beauty,  but  a  creature  of  vitality  and  mo- 
tion. Those  vast  leaves  expand  and  change  almost  visi- 
bly. They  have  been  known  to  grow  half  an  inch  an 
hour,  eight  inches  a  day.  Rising  one  day  from  the  water, 
a  mere  clenched  mass  of  yellow  prickles,  a  leaf  is  trans- 
formed the  next  day  to  a  crimson  salver,  gorgeously 
tinted  on  its  upturned  rim.  Then  it  spreads  into  a  raft 
of  green,  armed  with  long  thorns,  and  supported  by  a 
framework  of  ribs  and  cross-pieces,  an  inch  thick,  and 
so  substantial,  that  the  Brazil  Indians,  while  gathering 
the  seed-vessels,  place  their  young  children  on  the  leaves ; 
— yrupe,  or  water-platter,  they  call  the  accommodating 
plant.  But  even  these  expanding  leaves  are  not  the 
glory  of  the  Victoria ;  the  glory  is  in  the  opening  of  the 
flower. 

I  have  sometimes  looked  in,  for  a  passing  moment,  at 
the  green-house,  its  dwelling-place,  during  the  period  of 
flowering,  —  and  then  stayed  for  more  than  an  hour 
unable  to  leave  the  fascinating  scene.  After  the  strange 
flower-bud  has  reared  its  dark  head  from  the  placid  tank, 
moving  it  a  little,  uneasily,  like  some  imprisoned  water- 


WATER-LILIES.  289 

creature,  it  pauses  for  a  moment  in  a  sort  of  dumb  de- 
spair. Then  trembling  again,  and  collecting  all  its  pow- 
ers, it  thrusts  open,  with  an  indignant  jerk,  the  rough 
calyx-leaves,  and  the  beautiful  disrobing  begins.  The 
firm,  white,  central  cone,  first  so  closely  infolded,  quivers 
a  little,  and  swiftly,  before  your  eyes,  the  first  of  the 
hundred  petals  detaches  its  delicate  edges,  and  springs 
back,  opening  towards  the  water,  while  its  white  reflec- 
tion opens  to  meet  it  from  below.  Many  moments  of 
repose  follow,  —  you  watch,  —  another  petal  trembles, 
detaches,  springs  open,  and  is  stilL  Then  another,  and 
another,  and  another.  Each  movement  is  so  quiet,  yet 
so  decided,  so  living,  so  human,  that  the  radiant  creature 
seems  a  Musidora  of  the  water,  and  you  almost  blush 
with  a  sense  of  guilt,  in  gazing  on  that  peerless  privacy. 
As  petal  by  petal  slowly  opens,  there  still  stands  the  cen- 
tral cone  of  snow,  a  glacier,  an  alp,  a  jungfrau,  while 
each  avalanche  of  whiteness  seems  the  last.  Meanwhile 
a  strange  rich  odor  fills  the  air,  and  Nature  seems  to 
concentrate  all  fascinations  and  claim  all  senses  for  this 
jubilee  of  her  darling. 

So  pass  the  enchanted  moments  of  the  evening,  till  the 
fair  thing  pauses  at  last,  and  remains  for  hours  unchanged. 
In  the  morning,  one  by  one,  those  white  petals  close 
again,  shutting  all  their  beauty  in,  and  you  watch  through 
the  short  sleep  for  the  period  of  waking.  Can  this  bright 
transfigured  creature  appear  again,  in  the  same  chaste 
loveliness?  Your  fancy  can  scarcely  trust  it,  fearing 
some  disastrous  change ;  and  your  fancy  is  too  true  a 
prophet.  Come  again,  after  the  second  day's  opening, 
and  you  start  at  the  transformation  which  one  hour  has 
secretly  produced.  Can  this  be  the  virgin  Victoria, — 
this  thing  of  crimson  passion,  this  pile  of  pink  and  yellow, 


21M)  WATER-LILIES. 

relaxed,  expanded,  voluptuous,  lolling  languidly  upon  the 
water,  never  to  rise  again  ?  In  this  short  time  every 
tint  of  every  petal  is  transformed;  it  is  gorgeous  in 
beauty,  but  it  is  "  Hebe  turned  to  Magdalen." 

Such  is  the  Victoria  Regia.  But  our  rustic  water-lily, 
our  innocent  Nyraphaea,  never  claiming  such  a  hot-house 
glory,  never  drooping  into  such  a  blush,  blooms  on  placid- 
ly in  the  quiet  waters,  till  she  modestly  folds  her  leaves 
for  the  last  time,  and  bows  her  head  beneath  the  surface 
forever.  Next  year  she  lives  for  us  only  in  her  children, 
fair  and  pure  as  herself. 

Nay,  not  alone  in  them,  but  also  in  memory.  The 
fair  vision  will  not  fade  from  us,  though  the  paddle  has 
dipped  its  last  crystal  drop  from  the  waves,  and  the  boat 
is  drawn  upon  the  shore.  We  may  yet  visit  many  lovely 
and  lonely  places,  —  meadows  thick  with  violet,  or  the 
homes  of  the  shy  Rhodora,  or  those  sloping  forest-haunts 
where  the  slight  Linnaea  hangs  its  twin-born  heads, — 
but  no  scene  will  linger  on  our  vision  like  this  annual 
Feast  of  the  Lilies.  On  scorching  mountains,  amid  raw 
prairie-winds,  or  upon  the  regal  ocean,  the  white  pageant 
shall  come  back  to  memory  again,  with  all  the  luxury  of 
summer  heats,  and  all  the  fragrant  coolness  that  can 
relieve  them.  We  shall  fancy  ourselves  again  among 
these  fleets  of  anchored  lilies,  —  again,  like  Urvasi,  sport- 
ing amid  the  Lake  of  Lotuses. 

For  that  which  is  remembered  is  often  more  vivid  than 
that  which  is  seen.  The  eye  paints  better  in  the  presence, 
the  heart  in  the  absence,  of  the  object  most  dear.  "  He 
who  longs  after  beautiful  Nature  can  best  describe  her," 
said  Bettine ;  "  he  who  is  in  the  midst  of  her  loveliness 
can  only  lie  down  and  enjoy."  It  enhances  the  truth  of 
the  poet's  verses,  that  he  writes  them  in  his  study.  Ab- 


WATER-LILIES.  291 

sence  is  the  very  air  of  passion,  and  all  the  best  descrip- 
tion is  in  memoriam.  As  with  our  human  beloved,  when 
the  graceful  presence  is  with  us,  we  cannot  analyze  or 
describe,  but  merely  possess,  and  only  after  its  departure 
can  it  be  portrayed  by  our  yearning  desires ;  so  is  it  with 
Nature :  only  hi  losing  her  do  we  gain  the  power  to  de- 
scribe her,  aad  we  are  introduced  to  Art,  as  we  are  to 
Eternity,  by  the  dropping  away  of  our  companions. 


THE   LIFE   OF   BIRDS. 


THE  LIFE   OF   BIRDS. 


WHEN  one  thinks  of  a  bird,  one  fancies  a  soft, 
swift,  aimless,  joyous  thing,  full  of  nervous  en- 
ergy and  arrowy  motions,  —  a  song  with  wings.  So  re- 
mote from  ours  their  mode  of  existence,  they  seem  acci- 
dental exiles  from  an  unknown  globe,  banished  where 
none  can  understand  their  language ;  and  men  only  stare 
at  their  darting,  inexplicable  ways,  as  at  the  gyrations  of 
the  circus.  Watch  their  little  traits  for  hours,  and  it  only 
tantalizes  curiosity.  Every  man's  secret  is  penetrable, 
if  his  neighbor  be  sharp-sighted.  Dickens,  for  instance, 
can  take  a  poor  condemned  wretch,  like  Fagin,  whose 
emotions  neither  he  nor  his  reader  has  experienced,  and 
can  paint  him  in  colors  that  seem  made  of  the  soul's  own 
atoms,  so  that  each  beholder  feels  as  if  he,  personally, 
had  been  the  man.  But  this  bird  that  hovers  and  alights 
beside  me,  peers  up  at  me,  takes  its  food,  then  looks 
again,  attitudinizing,  jerking,  flirting  its  tail,  with  a  thou- 
sand inquisitive  and  fantastic  motions,  —  although  I  have 
power  to  grasp  it  in  my  hand  and  crush  its  life  out,  yet  I 
cannot  gain  its  secret  thus,  and  the  centre  of  its  conscious- 
ness is  really  farther  from  mine  than  the  remotest  plane- 
tary orbit  "We  do  not  steadily  bear  in  mind,"  says 
Darwin,  with  a  noble  scientific  humility,  "  how  profoundly 


296  THE  LIFE   OF  BIRDS. 

ignorant  we  are  of  the  condition  of  existence  of  every 
animal." 

What  "  sympathetic  penetration "  can  fathom  the  life, 
for  instance,  of  yonder  mysterious,  almost  voiceless,  Hum- 
ming-Bird,  smallest  of  feathery  things,  and  loneliest, 
whirring  among  birds,  insect-like,  and  among  insects, 
bird-like,  his  path  untraceable,  his  home  unseen  ?  An 
image  of  airy  motion,  yet  it  sometimes  seems  as  if  there 
were  nothing  joyous  in  him.  He  seems  like  some  exiled 
pygmy  prince,  banished,  but  still  regal,  and  doomed  to 
wings.  Did  gems  turn  to  flowers,  flowers  to  feathers, 
in  that  long-past  dynasty  of  the  Humming-Birds  ?  It  is 
strange  to  come  upon  his  tiny  nest,  in  some  gray  and 
tangled  swamp,  with  this  brilliant  atom  perched  disconso- 
lately near  it,  upon  some  mossy  twig ;  it  is  like  visiting 
Cinderella  among  her  ashes.  And  from  Humming-Bird 
to  Eagle,  the  daily  existence  of  every  bird  is  a  remote 
and  bewitching  mystery. 

Pythagoras  has  been  charged,  both  before  and  since 
the  days  of  Malvolio,  with  holding  that  "  the  soul  of  our 
grandam  might  haply  inhabit  a  fowl," — that  delinquent 
men  must  revisit  earth  as  women,  and  delinquent  women 
as  birds.  Malvolio  thought  nobly  of  the  soul,  and  in  no 
way  approved  his  opinion  ;  but  I  remember  that  Harriet 
Rohan,  in  her  school-days,  accepted  this,  her  destiny,  with 
glee.  "  When  I  saw  the  Oriole,"  she  wrote  to  me,  "  from 
his  nest  among  the  plum-trees  in  the  garden,  sail  over  the 
air  and  high  above  the  Gothic  arches  of  the  elm,  a  stream 
of  flashing  light,  or  watched  him  swinging  silently  on 
pendent  twigs,  I  did  not  dream  how  near  akin  we  were. 
Or  when  a  Humming-Bird,  a  winged  drop  of  gorgeous 
sheen  and  gloss,  a  living  gem,  poising  on  his  wings,  thrust 
his  dark,  slender,  honey-seeking  bill  into  the  white  bins- 


THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS.  297 

soms  of  a  little  bush  beside  my  window,  I  should  have 
thought  it  no  such  bad  thing  to  be  a  bird,  even  if  one 
next  became  a  bat,  like  the  colony  in  our  eaves,  that  dart 
and  drop  and  skim  and  skurry,  all  the  length  of  moonless 
nights,  in  such  ecstasies  of  dusky  joy."  Was  this  weird 
creature,  the  bat,  in  very  truth  a  bird,  in  some  far  prime- 
val time  ?  and  does  he  fancy,  in  unquiet  dreams  at  night- 
fall, that  he  is  one  still  ?  I  wonder  whether  he  can  enjoy 
the  winged  brotherhood  into  which  he  has  thrust  himself, 
—  victim,  perhaps,  of  some  rash  quadruped-ambition,  — 
an  Icarus  doomed  forever  not  to  fall. 

I  think,  that,  if  required,  on  pain  of  death,  to  name 
instantly  the  most  perfect  thing  in  the  universe,  I  should 
risk  my  fate  on  a  bird's  egg.  There  is,  first,  its  exquisite 
fragility  of  material,  strong  only  by  the  mathematical 
precision  of  that  form  so  daintily  moulded.  There  is  its 
absolute  purity  from  external  stain,  since  that  thin  barrier 
remains  impassable  until  the  whole  is  in  ruins, — a  purity 
recognized  in  the  household  proverb  of  "  An  apple,  an 
egg,  and  a  nut."  Then,  its  range  of  tints,  so  varied,  so 
subdued,  and  so  beautiful,  —  whether  of  pure  white,  like 
the  Martin's,  or  pure  green,  like  the  Robin's,  or  dotted 
and  mottled  into  the  loveliest  of  browns,  like  the  Red 
Thrush's,  or  aqua-marine,  with  stains  of  moss-agate,  like 
the  Chipping-Sparrow's,  or  blotched  with  long  weird  ink- 
marks  on  a  pale  ground,  like  the  Oriole's,  as  if  it  bore 
inscribed  some  magic  clew  to  the  bird's  darting  flight  and 
pensile  nest.  Above  all,  the  associations  and  predictions 
of  this  little  wonder,  —  that  one  may  bear  home  between 
his  fingers  all  that  winged  splendor,  all  that  celestial  melo- 
dy, coiled  in  mystery  within  these  tiny  walls  !  Even  the 
chrysalis  is  less  amazing,  for  its  form  always  preserves 
some  trace,  however  fantastic,  of  the  perfect  insect,  and 
13* 


298  THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS. 

it  is  but  moulting  a  skin  ;  but  this  egg  appears  to  the  eye 
like  a  separate  unit  from  some  other  kingdom  of  Nature, 
claiming  more  kindred  with  the  very  stones  than  with 
feathery  existence  ;  and  it  is  as  if  a  pearl  opened  and  an 
angel  sang. 

The  nest  which  is  to  contain  these  fair  things  is  a  won- 
drous study  also,  from  the  coarse  masonry  of  the  Robin 
to  the  soft  structure  of  the  Humming-Bird,  a  baby-house 
among  nests.  Among  all  created  things,  the  birds  come 
nearest  to  man  in  their  domesticity.  Their  unions  are 
usually  in  pairs,  and  for  life  ;  and  with  them,  unlike  the 
practice  of  most  quadrupeds,  the  male  labors  for  the 
young.  He  chooses  the  locality  of  the  nest,  aids  in  its 
construction,  and  fights  for  it,  if  needful.  He  sometimes 
assists  in  hatching  the  eggs.  He  feeds  the  brood  with 
exhausting  labor,  like  yonder  Robin,  whose  winged  pic- 
turesque day  is  spent  in  putting  worms  into  insatiable 
beaks,  at  the  rate  of  one  morsel  in  every  three  minutes. 
He  has  to  teach  them  to  fly,  as  among  the  Swallows,  or 
even  to  hunt,  as  among  the  Hawks.  His  life  is  anchored 
to  his  home.  Yonder  Oriole  fills  with  light  and  melody 
the  thousand  branches  of  a  neighborhood ;  and  yet  the 
centre  for  all  this  divergent  splendor  is  always  that  one 
drooping  dome  upon  one  chosen  tree.  This  he  helped  to 
build  in  May,  confiscating  cotton  as  if  he  were  a  Union 
provost-marshal,  and  singing  many  songs,  with  his  mouth 
full  of  plunder ;  and  there  he  watches  over  his  house- 
hold, all  through  the  leafy  June,  perched  often  upon  the 
airy  cradle-edge,  and  swaying  with  it  in  the  summer 
wind.  And  from  this  deep  nest,  after  the  pretty  eggs 
are  hatched,  will  he  and  his  mate  extract  every  fragment 
of  the  shell,  leaving  it,  like  all  other  nests,  save  those  of 
birds  of  prey,  clean  and  pure,  when  the  young  are  flown. 


THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS.  299 

This  they  do  chiefly  from  an  instinct  of  delicacy ;  since 
wood-birds  are  not  wont  to  use  the  same  nest  a  second 
time,  even  if  they  rear  several  broods  in  a  season. 

The  subdued  tints  and  notes  which  almost  always  mark 
the  female  sex,  among  birds,  —  unlike  insects  ind  human 
beings,  of  which  the  female  is  often  more  showy  than 
the  male,  —  seem  designed  to  secure  their  safety  while 
sitting  on  the  nest,  while  the  brighter  colors  and  louder 
song  of  the  male  enable  his  domestic  circle  to  detect  his 
whereabouts  more  easily.  It  is  commonly  noticed,  in 
the  same  way,  that  ground-birds  have  more  neutral  tints 
than  those  which  build  out  of  reach.  With  the  aid  of 
these  advantages,  it  is  astonishing  how  well  these  roving 
creatures  keep  their  secrets,  and  what  sharp  eyes  are 
needed  to  spy  out  their  habitations,  —  while  it  always 
seems  as  if  the  empty  last-year's  nests  were  very  plenty. 
Some,  indeed,  are  very  elaborately  concealed,  as  of  the 
Golden-Crowned  Thrush,  called,  for  this  reason,  the 
Oven-Bird,  —  the  Meadow-Lark,  with  its  burrowed  gal- 
lery among  the  grass,  —  and  the  Kingfisher,  which  mines 
four  feet  into  the  earth.  But  most  of  the  rarer  nests 
would  hardly  be  discovered,  only  that  the  maternal  in- 
stinct seems  sometimes  so  overloaded  by  Nature  as  to 
defeat  itself,  and  the  bird  flies  and  chirps  in  agony,  when 
she  might  pass  unnoticed  by  keeping  still.  The  most 
marked  exception  which  I  have  noticed  is  the  Red 
Thrush,  which,  in  this  respect,  as  in  others,  has  the  most 
high-bred  manners  among  all  our  birds  :  both  male  and 
female  sometimes  flit  in  perfect  silence  through  the 
bushes,  and  show  solicitude  only  in  a  sob  which  is  scarce- 
ly audible. 

Passing  along  the  shore-path  by  our  lake,  one  day  in 
June,  I  heard  a  great  sound  of  scuffling  and  yelping  before 


300  THE  LIFE    OF  BIRDS. 

me,  as  if  dogs  were  hunting  rabbits  or  woodchueks.  On 
approaching,  I  saw  no  sign  of  such  disturbances,  and 
presently  a  Partridge  came  running  at  me  through  the 
trees,  with  ruff  and  tail  expanded,  bill  wide  open,  and 
hissing  like  a  Goose,  —  then  turned  suddenly,  and  with 
ruff  and  tail  furled,  but  with  no  pretence  of  lameness, 
scudded  off  through  the  woods  in  a  circle,  —  then  at  me 
again  fiercely,  approaching  within  two  yards,  and  spread- 
ing all  her  furbelows,  to  intimidate,  as  before,  —  then, 
taking  in  sail,  went  off  again,  always  at  the  same  rate  of 
speed,  yelping  like  an  angry  squirrel,  squealing  like  a  pig, 
occasionally  clucking  like  a  hen,  and,  in  general,  so  filling 
the  woods  with  bustle  and  disturbance  that  there  seemed 
no  room  for  anything  else.  Quite  overawed  by  the  dis- 
play, I  stood  watching  her  for  some  time,  then  entered 
the  underbrush,  where  the  little  invisible  brood  had  been 
unceasingly  piping,  in  their  baby  way.  So  motionless 
were  they,  that,  for  all  their  noise,  I  stood  with  my  feet 
among  them,  for  some  minutes,  without  finding  it  possible 
to  detect  them.  When  found  and  taken  from  the  ground, 
which  they  so  closely  resembled,  they  made  no  attempt  to 
escape  ;  but  when  replaced,  they  presently  ran  away  fast, 
as  if  conscious  that  the  first  policy  had  failed,  and  that 
their  mother  had  retreated.  Such  is  the  summer  life  of 
these  little  things ;  but  come  again  in  the  fall,  when  the 
wild  autumnal  winds  go  marching  through  the  woods, 
and  a  dozen  pairs  of  strong  wings  will  thrill  like  thunder 
through  the  arches  of  the  trees,  as  the  full-grown  brood 
whirrs  away  around  you. 

Not  only  have  we  scarcely  any  species  of  birds  which 
are  thoroughly  and  unquestionably  identical  with  Euro- 
pean species,  but  there  are  certain  general  variations  of 
halit.  For  instance,  in  regard  to  migration.  This  is, 


THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS.  301 

of  course,  a  universal  instinct,  since  even  tropical  birds 
migrate  for  short  distances  from  the  equator,  so  essential 
to  their  existence  do  these  wanderings  seem.  But  in 
New  England,  among  birds  as  among  men,  the  roving 
habit  seems  unusually  strong,  and  abodes  are  shifted  very 
rapidly.  The  whole  number  of  species  observed  in  Mas- 
sachusetts is  about  the  same  as  in  England,  —  some  three 
hundred  in  alL  But  of  this  number,  in  England,  about 
a  hundred  habitually  winter  on  the  island,  and  half  that 
number  even  in  the  Hebrides,  some  birds  actually  breed- 
ing in  Scotland  during  January  and  February,  incredible 
as  it  may  seem.  Their  habits  can,  therefore,  be  observed 
through  a  long  period  of  the  year ;  while  with  us  the 
bright  army  comes  and  encamps  for  a  month  or  two  and 
then  vanishes.  You  must  attend  their  dress-parades, 
while  they  last ;  for  you  will  have  but  few  opportunities, 
and  their  domestic  life  must  commonly  be  studied  during 
a  few  weeks  of  the  season,  or  not  at  all. 

Wonderful  as  the  instinct  of  migration  seems,  it  is  not, 
perhaps,  so  altogether  amazing  in  itself  as  in  some  of  its 
attendant  details.  To  a  great  extent,  birds  follow  the 
opening  foliage  northward,  and  flee  from  its  fading,  south ; 
they  must  keep  near  the  food  on  which  they  live,  and 
secure  due  shelter  for  their  eggs.  Our  earliest  visitors 
shrink  from  trusting  the  bare  trees  with  their  nests ;  the 
Song-Sparrow  seeks  the  ground ;  the  Blue-Bird  finds  a 
box  or  a  hole  somewhere ;  the  Red- Wing  haunts  the 
marshy  thickets,  safer  in  spring  than  at  any  other  season ; 
and  even  the  sociable  Robin  prefers  a  pine-tree  to  an 
apple-tree,  if  resolved  to  begin  housekeeping  prematurely. 
The  movements  of  birds  are  chiefly  timed  by  the  advance 
of  vegetation  ;  and  the  thing  most  thoroughly  surprising 
about  them  is  not  the  general  fact  of  the  change  of  lad- 


302  THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS. 

tnde,  but  their  accuracy  in  hitting  the  precise  locality. 
That  the  same  Cat-Bird  should  find  its  way  back,  every 
spring,  to  almost  the  same  branch  of  yonder  larch-tree,  — 
that  is  the  thing  astonishing  to  me.  In  England,  a  lame 
Redstart  was  observed  in  the  same  garden  for  sixteen 
successive  years  ;  and  the  astonishing  precision  of  course 
which  enables  some  birds  of  small  size  to  fly  from  Aus- 
tralia to  New-Zealand  in  a  day  —  probably  the  longest 
single  flight  ever  taken  —  is  only  a  part  of  the  same 
mysterious  instinct  of  direction. 

In  comparing  mode?  of  flight,  the  most  surprising,  of 
course,  is  that  of  the  Swallow  tribe,  remarkable  not  merely 
for  its  velocity,  but  for  the  amazing  boldness  and  instan- 
taneousness  of  the  angles  it  makes ;  so  that  eminent  Eu- 
ropean mechanicians  have  speculated  in  vain  upon  the 
methods  used  in  its  locomotion,  and  prizes  have  been 
offered,  by  mechanical  exhibitions,  to  him  who  could  best 
explain  it.  With  impetuous  dash,  they  sweep  through 
our  perilous  streets,  these  wild  hunters  of  the  air,  "so 
near,  and  yet  so  far  " ;  they  bathe  flying,  and  flying  they 
feed  their  young.  In  my  immediate  vicinity,  the  Chim- 
ney-Swallow is  not  now  common,  nor  the  Sand-Swallow ; 
but  the  Cliff-Swallow,  that  strange  emigrant  from  the 
Far  West,  the  Barn-Swallow,  and  the  white-breasted 
species,  are  abundant,  together  with  the  Purple  Martin. 
I  know  no  prettier  sight  than  a  bevy  of  these  bright  little 
creatures,  met  "from  a  dozen  different  farm-houses  to  pic- 
nic at  a  wayside  pool,  splashing  and  fluttering,  with  their 
long  wings  expanded  like  butterflies,  keeping  poised  by 
a  constant  hovering  motion,  just  tilting  upon  their  feet, 
which  scarcely  touch  the  moist  ground.  You  will  seldom 
see  them  actually  perch  on  anything  less  airy  than  some 
telegraphic  wire;  but  when  they  do  alight,  each  will 


THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS.  303 

make  chatter  enough  for  a  dozen,  as  if  all  the  rushing 
hurry  of  the  wings  had  passed  into  the  tongue. 

Between  the  swiftness  of  the  Swallow  and  the  state- 
litiess  of  the  birds  of  prey,  the  whole  range  of  bird-motion 
seems  included.  The  long  wave  of  a  Hawk's  wings 
seems  almost  to  send  a  slow  vibration  through  the  at- 
mosphere, tolling  upon  the  eye  as  yon  distant  bell  upon 
the  ear.  I  never  was  more  impressed  with  the  superior 
dignity  of  these  soarings  than  in  observing  a  bloodless 
contest  in  the  air,  last  April.  Standing  beside  a  little 
grove,  on  a  rocky  hillside,  I  heard  Crows  cawing  near 
by,  and  then  a  sound  like  great  flies  buzzing,  which  I 
really  attributed,  for  a  moment,  to  some  early  insect. 
Turning,  I  saw  two  Crows  flapping  their  heavy  wings 
among  the  trees,  and  observed  that  they  were  teasing  a 
Hawk  about  as  large  as  themselves,  which  was  also  on  the 
wing.  Presently  all  three  had  risen  above  the  branches, 
and  were  circling  higher  and  higher  in  a  slow  spiral. 
The  Crows  kept  constantly  swooping  at  their  enemy,  with 
the  same  angry  buzz,  one  of  the  two  taking  decidedly 
the  lead.  They  seldom  struck  at  him  with  their  beaks, 
but  kept  lumbering  against  him,  and  flapping  him  with 
their  wings,  as  if  in  a  fruitless  effort  to  capsize  him; 
while  the  Hawk  kept  carelessly  eluding  the  assaults,  now 
inclining  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other,  with  a  stately 
grace,  never  retaliating,  but  seeming  rather  to  enjoy  the 
novel  amusement,  as  if  it  were  a  skirmish  in  balloons. 
During  all  this,  indeed,  he  scarcely  seemed  once  to 
wave  his  wings ;  yet  he  soared  steadily  aloft,  till  the 
Crows  refused  to  follow,  though  already  higher  than  I 
ever  saw  Crows  before,  dim  against  the  fleecy  sky ;  then 
the  Hawk  flew  northward,  but  soon  after  he  sailed  over 
us  once  again,  with  loud,  scornful  chin;  and  they  only 
cawed,  and  left  him  undisturbed. 


304  THE  LIFE   OF  BIRDS. 

When  we  hear  the  tumult  of  music  from  these  various 
artists  of  the  air,  it  seems  as  if  the  symphony  never  could 
be  analyzed  into  its  different  instalments.  But  with 
time  and  patience  it  is  not  so  difficult ;  nor  can  we  really 
enjoy  the  performance,  so  long  as  it  is  only  a  confused 
chorus  to  our  ears.  It  is  not  merely  the  highest  form 
of  animal  language,  but,  in  strictness  of  etymology,  the 
only  form,  if  it  be  true,  as  is  claimed,  that  no  other  ani- 
mal employs  its  tongue,  lingua,  in  producing  sound.  In 
the  Middle  Ages,  the  song  of  birds  was  called  their 
Latin,  as  was  any  other  foreign  dialect.  It  was  the  old 
German  superstition,  that  any  one  who  should  eat  the 
heart  of  a  bird  would  thenceforth  comprehend  its  lan- 
guage ;  and  one  modern  philologist  of  the  same  nation 
(Masius  declares)  has  so  far  studied  the  sounds  produced 
by  domestic  fowls  as  to  announce  a  Goose-Lexicon.  Du- 
pont  de  Nemours  asserted  that  he  understood  eleven  words 
of  the  Pigeon  language,  the  same  number  of  that  of 
Fowls,  fourteen  of  the  Cat  tongue,  twenty-two  of  that  of 
Cattle,  thirty  of  that  of  Dogs,  and  the  Raven  language  he 
understood  completely.  But  the  ordinary  observer  seldom 
attains  farther  than  to  comprehend  some  of  the  cries  of 
anxiety  and  fear  around  him,  often  so  unlike  the  accus- 
tomed carol  of  the  bird,  —  as  the  mew  of  the  Cat-Bird, 
the  lamb-like  bleating  of  the  Veery  and  his  impatient 
yeoick,  the  chaip  of  the  Meadow-Lark,  the  towyee  of  the 
Chewink,  the  petulant  psit  and  tsee  of  the  Red-Winged 
Blackbird,  and  the  hoarse  cooing  of  the  Bobolink.  And 
with  some  of  our  most  familiar  birds  the  variety  of  notes 
is  so  great  as  really  to  promise  difficulties  in  the  Ameri- 
can department  of  the  bird-lexicon.  I  have  watched  two 
Song-Sparrows,  perched  near  each  other,  in  whom  the 
spy-glass  could  show  not  the  slightest  difference  of  mark 


THE  LIFE   OF  BIRDS.  305 

ing,  even  in  the  characteristic  stains  upon  the  breast,  who 
yet  chanted  to  each  other,  for  fifteen  minutes,  over  and 
over,  two  elaborate  songs  which  had  nothing  in  common. 
I  have  observed  a  similar  thing  in  two  Wood-Sparrows, 
with  their  sweet,  distinct,  accelerating  lay  ;  nor  can  I 
find  it  stated  that  the  difference  is  sexual.  Who  can 
claim  to  have  heard  the  whole  song  of  the  Robin?  Tak- 
ing shelter  from  a  shower  beneath  an  oak-tree,  the  other 
day,  I  caught  a  few  of  the  notes  which  one  of  those 
cheery  creatures,  who  love  to  sing  in  wet  weather,  tossed 
down  to  me  through  the  drops. 

(Before  noticing  me,)  chirrup,  cheerup; 

(pausing  in  alarm,  at  my  approach,)  che,  c/ie,  che; 
(broken  presently  by  a  thoughtful  strain,)      caw,  caw; 

(then  softer  and  more  confiding,)  tee,  tee,  see  ; 

(then  the  original  note,  in  a  whisper,)  chmttp,  cheerup; 

(often  broken  by  a  soft  note,)  see,  wee; 

(and  an  odder  one,)  squeal; 
(and  a  mellow  note,) 


And  all  these  were  mingled  with  more  complex  com- 
binations, and  with  half-imitations,  as  of  the  Blue-Bird, 
so  that  it  seemed  almost  impossible  to  doubt  that  there 
was  some  specific  meaning,  to  him  and  his  peers,  in 
this  endless  vocabulary.  Yet  other  birds,  as  quick-witted 
as  the  Robins,  possess  but  one  or  two  chirping  notes,  to 
which  they  seem  unable  to  give  more  than  the  very 
rudest  variation  of  accent. 

The  controversy  between  the  singing-birds  of  Europe 
and  America  has  had  various  phases  and  influential 
disputants.  Buffon  easily  convinced  himself  that  our 
Thrushes  had  no  songs,  because  the  voices  of  all  birds 
grew  harsh  in  savage  countries,  such  as  he  naturally  held 
this  continent  to  be.  Audubon,  on  the  other  hand,  re- 
lates that  even  in  his  childhood  he  was  assured  by  his 

T 


306  THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS. 

father  that  the  American  songsters  were  the  best,  though 
neither  Americans  nor  Europeans  could  be  convinced 
of  it.  MacGillivray,  the  Scottish  naturalist,  reports  that 
Audubon  himself,  in  conversation,  arranged  our  vocalists 
in  the  following  order :  —  first,  the  Mocking-Bird,  as  un- 
rivalled; then,  the  Wood-Thrush,  Cat-Bird,  and  Red 
thrush  ;  the  Rose-Breasted,  Pine,  and  Blue  Grosbeak ; 
the  Orchard  and  Golden  Oriole ;  the  Tawny  and  Hermit 
Thrashes;  several  Finches,  —  Bachmann's,  the  White- 
Crowned,  the  Indigo,  and  the  Nonpareil ;  and  finally,  the 
Bobolink. 

Among  those  birds  of  this  list  which  frequent  Massa- 
chusetts, Audubon  might  well  put  the  Wood-Thrush  at 
the  head.  As  I  sat  the  other  day  in  the  deep  woods 
beside  a  black  brook  which  dropped  from  stone  to  stone 
beneath  the  shadow  of  our  Rattlesnake  Rocks,  the  air 
•seemed  at  first  as  silent  above  me  as  the  earth  below. 
The  buzz  of  summer  sounds  had  not  begun.  Sometimes 
a  bee  hummed  by  with  a  long  swift  thrill  like  a  chord  of 
music ;  sometimes  a  breeze  came  resounding  up  the  forest 
like  an  approaching  locomotive,  and  then  died  utterly 
away.  Then,  at  length,  a  Veery's  delicious  note  rose  in 
a  fountain  of  liquid  melody  from  beneath  me  ;  and  when 
it  was  ended,  the  clear,  calm,  interrupted  chant  of  the 
Wood-Thrush  fell  like  solemn  water-drops  from  some 
source  above.  I  am  acquainted  with  no  sound  in  Nature 
so  sweet,  so  elevated,  so  serene.  Flutes  and  flageolets 
are  Art's  poor  efforts  to  recall  that  softer  sound.  It  is 
simple,  and  seems  all  prelude  ;  but  the  music  to  which  it 
is  the  overture  belongs  to  other  spheres.  It  might  be  the 
Angilus  of  some  lost  convent  It  might  be  the  meditatioi 
of  some  maiden-hermit,  saying  over  to  herself  in  solitude, 
with  recurrent  tuneful  pauses,  the  only  song  she  knows. 


THE  LIFE   OF  BIRDS.  307 

Beside  this  soliloquy  of  seraphs,  the  carol  of  the  Veery 
seems  a  familiar  and  almost  domestic  thing ;  yet  it  is  so 
charming  that  Audubon  must  have  designed  to  include  it 
among  the  Thrushes  whose  merits  he  proclaims. 

But  the  range  of  musical  perfection  is  a  wide  one ; 
and  if  the  standard  of  excellence  be  that  wondrous  bril- 
liancy and  variety  of  execution  suggested  by  the  Mock- 
ing-Bird,  then  the  palm  belongs,  among  our  New-England 
songsters,  to  the  Red  Thrush,  otherwise  called  the  Mavis 
or  Brown  Thrasher.  I  have  never  heard  the  Mocking- 
Bird  sing  at  liberty ;  and  while  the  caged  bird  may 
surpass  the  Red  Thrush  in  volume  of  voice  and  in 
quaintness  of  direct  imitation,  he  gives  me  no  such 
impression  of  depth  and  magnificence.  I  know  not  how 
to  describe  the  voluble  and  fantastic  notes  which  fall  like 
pearls  and  diamonds  from  the  beak  of  our  Mavis,  while 
his  stately  attitudes  and  high-born  bearing  are  in  full 
harmony  with  the  song.  I  recall  the  steep,  bare  hillside, 
and  the  two  great  boulders  which  guard  the  lonely  grove, 
where  I  first  fully  learned  the  wonder  of  this  lay,  as  if  I 
had  met  Saint  Cecilia  there.  A  thoroughly  happy  song, 
overflowing  with  life,  it  gives  even  its  most  familiar 
phrases  an  air  of  gracious  condescension,  as  when  some 
great  violinist  stoops  to  the  "  Carnival  of  Venice."  The 
Red  Thrush  does  not,  however,  consent  to  any  parrot-like 
mimicry,  though  every  note  of  wood  or  field  —  Oriole, 
Bobolink,  Crow,  Jay,  Robin,  Whippoorwill  —  appears  to 
pass  in  veiled  procession  through  the  song. 

Retain  the  execution  of  the  Red  Thrush,  but  hopelessly 
impair  his  organ,  and  you  have  the  Cat-Bird.  This 
accustomed  visitor  would  seem  a  gifted  vocalist,  but  for 
the  inevitable  comparison  between  his  thinner  note  and 
the  gushing  melodies  of  the  lordlier  bird.  Is  it  some 


308  THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS. 

hopeless  consciousness  of  this  disadvantage  which  lead? 
him  to  pursue  that  peculiar  habit  of  singing  softly  to  him- 
self very  often,  in  a  fancied  seclusion  ?  When  other  birds 
are  cheerily  out-of-doors,  on  some  bright  morning  of  May 
or  June,  one  will  often  discover  a  solitary  Cat-Bird  sitting 
concealed  in  the  middle  of  a  dense  bush,  and  twittering 
busily,  in  subdued  rehearsal,  the  whole  copious  variety 
of  his  lay,  practising  trills  and  preparing  half-imitations, 
which,  at  some  other  time,  sitting  on  the  topmost  twig,  he 
shall  hilariously  seem  to  improvise  before  all  the  world. 
Can  it  be  that  he  is  really  in  some  slight  disgrace  with 
Nature,  with  that  demi-mourning  garb  of  his,  —  and  that 
his  feline  cry  of  terror,  which  makes  his  opprobrium  with 
boys,  is  part  of  some  hidden  doom  decreed  ?  No,  the 
lovely  color  of  the  eggs  which  his  companion  watches  on, 
that  laboriously  builded  staging  of  twigs  shall  vindicate 
this  familiar  companion  from  any  suspicion  of  original 
sin.  Indeed,  it  is  well  demonstrated  by  our  American 
oologist,  Dr.  Brewer,  that  the  eggs  of  the  Cat-Bird  affili- 
ate him  with  the  Robin  and  the  "Wood-Thrush,  all  three 
being  widely  separated  in  this  respect  from  the  Red 
Thrush.  The  Red  Thrush  builds  on  the  ground,  and  has 
mottled  eggs  ;  while  the  whole  household  establishment 
of  the  "Wood-Thrush  is  scarcely  distinguishable  from  that 
of  the  Robin,  and  the  Cat-Bird  differs  chiefly  in  being 
more  of  a  carpenter  and  less  of  a  mason. 

The  Rose-Breasted  Grosbeak,  which  Audubon  places 
so  high  on  his  list  of  minstrels,  comes  annually  to  one 
region  in  this  vicinity,  but  I  am  not  sure  of  having  heard 
it  The  young  Pine  Grosbeaks  come  to  our  woods  in 
winter,  and  have  then  but  a  subdued  twitter.  Every  one 
knows  the  Bobolink ;  and  almost  all  recognize  the  Oriole, 
by  sight  at  least,  even  if  unfamiliar  with  all  the  notes  of 


TxIE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS.  309 

his  cheery  and  resounding  song.  The  Red-Eyed  Fly- 
catcher, heard  even  more  constantly,  is  less  generally 
identified  by  name ;  but  his  note  sounds  all  day  among 
the  elms  of  our  streets,  and  seems  a  sort  of  piano-adap- 
tation, popularized  for  the  million,  of  the  rich  notes  of  the 
Thrushes.  He  is  not  mentioned  by  Audubon  among  his 
favorites,  and  has  no  right  to  complain  of  the  exclusion. 
Yet  the  birds  which  most  endear  summer  are  not  neces- 
sarily the  finest  performers ;  and  certainly  there  is  none 
whose  note  I  could  spare  less  easily  than  the  little  Chip- 
ping-Sparrow,  called  hereabouts  the  Hair-Bird.  To  lie 
half  awake  on  a  warm  morning  in  June,  and  hear  that 
soft  insect-like  chirp  draw  in  and  out  with  long  melodious 
pulsations,  like  the  rising  and  falling  of  the  human  breath, 
condenses  for  my  ear  the  whole  luxury  of  summer.  Later 
in, the  day,  among  the  multiplicity  of  noises,  the  chirping 
becomes  louder  and  more  detached,  losing  that  faint  and 
dream-like  thrilL 

The  bird-notes  which  have  the  most  familiar  fascination 
are  perhaps  simply  those  most  intimately  associated  with 
other  rural  things.  This  applies  especially  to  the  earliest 
spring  songsters.  Listening  to  these  delicious  prophets 
upon  some  of  those  still  and  moist  days  which  slip  in 
between  the  rough  winds  of  March,  and  fill  our  li\  es  for 
a  moment  with  anticipated  delights,  it  has  seemed  to  me 
that  their  varied  notes  were  sent  to  symbolize  all  the 
different  elements  of  spring  association.  The  Blue-Bird 
seems  to  represent  simply  spring's  faint,  tremulous,  liquid 
sweetness,  the  Soig-Sparrow  its  changing  pulsations  of 
more  positive  and  varied  joy,  and  the  Robin  its  cheery 
and  superabundant  vitality.  The  later  birds  of  the  sea- 
son, suggesting  no  such  fine-drawn  sensations,  yet  identify 
themselves  with  their  chosen  haunts,  so  that  we  cannot 


310  THE  LIFE   OF  BIRDS. 

think  of  the  one  without  the  other.  In  the  meadows,  we 
hear  the  languid  and  tender  drawl  of  the  Meadow-Lark, 
—  one  of  the  most  peculiar  of  notes,  almost  amounting  to 
affectation  in  its  excess  of  laborious  sweetness.  When 
we  reach  the  thickets  and  wooded  streams,  there  is  no 
affectation  in  the  Maryland  Yellow-Throat,  that  little 
restless  busybody,  with  his  eternal  which-is-it,  whic/i-is-it, 
which-ts-it,  emphasizing  each  syllable  at  will,  in  despair 
of  response.  Passing  into  the  loftier  woods,  we  find  them 
resounding  with  the  loud  proclamation  of  the  Golden 
Crowned  Thrush,  —  scheat,  scheat)  scheat,  scheat,  —  rising 
and  growing  louder  in  a  vigorous  way  that  rather  sug- 
gests some  great  Woodpecker  than  such  a  tiny  thing. 
And  penetrating  to  some  yet  lonelier  place,  we  find  it 
consecrated  to  that  life-long  sorrow,  whatever  it  may  be, 
which  is  made  immortal  in  the  plaintive  cadence  of  the 
Pewee. 

There  is  one  favorite  bird,  —  the  Chewink,  or  Ground- 
Robin,  —  which,  I  always  fancied,  must  have  been  known 
to  Keats  when  he  wrote  those  few  words  of  perfect  de- 
scriptiveness,  — 

"  If  an  innocent  bird 

Before  my  heedless  footsteps  stirred  and  stirred 
In  little  journeys." 

What  restless  spirit  is  in  this  creature,  that,  while  so  shy 
in  its  own  personal  habits,  it  yet  watches  every  visitor 
with  a  Paul-Pry  curiosity,  follows  him  in  the  woods,  peers 
out  among  the  underbrush,  scratches  upon  the  leaves  with 
a  pretty  pretence  of  important  business  there,  and  pres- 
ently, when  disregarded,  ascends  some  small  tree  and 
begins  to  carol  its  monotonous  song,  as  if  there  were  n<» 
such  thing  as  man  in  the  universe  ?  There  is  something 
irregular  and  fantastic  in  the  coloring,  also,  of  the  Che' 


THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS.  311 

wink  :  unlike  the  generality  of  ground-birds,  it  is  a  showy 
thing,  with  black,  white,  and  bay  intermingled,  and  it  is 
one  of  the  most  unmistakable  of  all  our  feathery  creatures, 
in  its  aspect  and  hs  ways. 

Another  of  my  favorites,  perhaps  from  our  sympathy 
as  to  localities,  since  we  meet  freely  every  summer  at 
a  favorite  lake,  is  the  King-Bird  or  Tyrant-Flycatcher. 
The  habits  of  royalty  or  tyranny  I  have  never  been  able 
to  perceive,  —  only  a  democratic  habit  of  resistance  to 
tyrants ;  but  this  bird  always  impresses  me  as  a  perfectly 
well-dressed  and  well-mannered  person,  who  amid  a  very 
talkative  society  prefers  to  listen,  and  shows  his  char- 
acter by  action  only.  So  long  as  he  sits  silently  on  some 
stake  or  bush  in  the  neighborhood  of  his  family  circle, 
you  notice  only  his  glossy  black  cap  and  the  white  feath- 
ers in  his  handsome  tail ;  but  let  a  Hawk  or  a  Crow 
come  near,  and  you  find  that  he  is  something  more  than 
a  mere  lazy  listener  to  the  Bobolink :  far  up  in  the  air, 
determined  to  be  thorough  in  his  chastisements,  you  will 
see  him,  with  a  comrade  or  two,  driving  the  bulky  in- 
truder away  into  the  distance,  till  you  wonder  how  he 
ever  expects  to  find  his  own  way  back  again.  He  speaks 
with  emphasis  on  these  occasions,  and  then  reverts,  more 
sedately  than  ever,  to  his  accustomed  silence. 

After  all  the  great  labors  of  Audubon  and  "Wilson,  it 
is  certain  that  the  recent  visible  progress  of  American 
ornithology  has  by  no  means  equalled  that  of  several 
other  departments  of  Natural  HL-tory.  The  older  books 
are  now  out  of  print,  and  there  is  actually  no  popular 
treatise  on  the  subject  to  be  had :  a  destitution  singularly 
contrasted  with  the  variety  of  excellent  botanical  works 
which  the  last  twenty  years  have  produced.  Nuttall's 
fascinating  volumes,  and  Brewer's  edition  of  Wilson,  are 


312  THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS. 

equally  inaccessible ;  and  the  most  valuable  contributions 
since  their  time,  so  far  as  I  know,  are  that  portion  of  Dr. 
Brewer's  work  on  eggs  printed  in  the  eleventh  volume  of 
the  "  Smithsonian  Contributions,"  and  four  admirable  arti- 
cles in  the  Atlantic  Monthly.*  But  the  most  important 
observations  are  locked  up  in  the  desks  or  exhibited  in 
the  cabinets  of  private  observers,  who  have  little  oppor- 
tunity of  comparing  facts  with  other  students,  or  with 
reliable  printed  authorities.  What  do  we  know,  for  in 
stance,  of  the  local  distribution  of  our  birds  ?  I  remem- 
ber that  in  my  latest  conversation  with  Thoreau,  last 
December,  he  mentioned  most  remarkable  facts  in  this 
department,  which  had  fallen  under  his  unerring  eyes. 
The  Hawk  most  common  at  Concord,  the  Red-Tailed 
species,  is  not  known  near  the  sea-shore,  twenty  miles  off, 
—  as  at  Boston  or  Plymouth.  The  "White-Breasted  Spar- 
row is  rare  in  Concord ;  but  the  Ashburnham  woods, 
thirty  miles  away,  are  full  of  it.  The  Scarlet  Tanager's 
is  the  commonest  note  in  Concord,  except  the  Red-Eyed 
Flycatcher's ;  yet  one  of  the  best  field-ornithologists  in 
Boston  had  never  heard  it.  The  Rose-Breasted  Gros- 
beak is  seen  not  infrequently  at  Concord,  though  its  nest 
is  rarely  found ;  but  in  Minnesota  Thoreau  found  it  more 
abundant  than  any  other  bird,  far  more  so  than  the  Robin. 
But  his  most  interesting  statement,  to  my  fancy,  was,  that, 
during  a  stay  of  ten  weeks  on  Monadnock,  he  found  that 
the  Snow-Bird  built  its  nest  on  the  top  of  the  mountain, 
and  probably  never  came  down  through  the  season.  That 
was  its  Arctic ;  and  it  would  probably  yet  be  found,  he 

*  "  Our  Birds  and  their  Ways"  (December,  1857);  "  The  Singing- 
Birds  and  their  Songs"  (August,  1858);  "The  Birds  of  the  Garden 
uid  Orchard"  (October,  1858);  "The  Birds  of  the  Pasture  and  For- 
Mt"  (December,  1858);  — the  first  by  J.  Elliot  Cabot,  and  the  last 
three  by  Wilson  Flagg. 


THE  LIFE  OF  BIRDS.  313 

predicted,  on  Wachusett  and  other  Massachusetts  peaks. 
It  is  known  that  the  Snow-Bird,  or  "  Snow-Flake,"  as  it 
is  called  in  England,  was  reported  by  Audubon  as  having 
only  once  been  proved  to  build  in  the  United  States, 
namely,  among  the  White  Mountains,  though  Wilson 
found  its  nests  among  the  Alleghanies ;  and  in  New  Eng- 
land it  used  to  be  the  rural  belief  that  the  Snow-Bird 
and  the  Chipping-Sparrow  were  the  same. 

After  July,  most  of  our  birds  grow  silent,  and,  but  for 
the  insects,  August  would  be  almost  the  stillest  month  in 
the  year,  —  stiller  than  the  winter,  when  the  woods  are 
often  vocal  with  the  Crow,  the  Jay,  and  the  Chickadee. 
But  with  patient  attention  one  may  hear,  even  far  into 
the  autumn,  the  accustomed  notes.  As  I  sat  in  my  boat, 
one  sunny  afternoon  of  last  September,  beneath  the  shady 
western  shore  of  our  quiet  lake,  with  the  low  sunlight 
striking  almost  level  across  the  wooded  banks,  it  seemed 
as  if  the  last  hoarded  drops  of  summer's  sweetness  were 
being  poured  over  all  the  world.  The  air  was  full  of 
quiet  sounds.  Turtles  rustled  beside  the  brink  and  slid 
into  the  water,  —  cows  plashed  in  the  shallows,  —  fishes 
leaped  from  the  placid  depths,  —  a  squirrel  sobbed  and 
fretted  on  a  neighboring  stump,  —  a  katydid  across  the 
lake  maintained  its  hard,  dry  croak,  —  the  crickets  chirped 
pertinaciously,  but  with  little  fatigued  pauses,  as  if  glad 
that  their  work  was  almost  done,  —  the  grasshoppers  kept 
up  their  continual  chant,  which  seemed  thoroughly  melted 
and  amalgamated  into  the  summer,  as  if  it  would  go  on 
indefinitely,  though  the  body  of  the  little  creature  were 
dried  into  dust.  All  this  time  the  birds  were  silent  and 
invisible,  as  if  they  would  take  no  more  part  in  the  sym- 
phony of  the  year.  Then,  seemingly  by  preconcerted 
signal,  they  joined  in:  Crows  cawed  anxiously  afar; 

14 


314  THE  LIFE   OF  BIRDS. 

Jays  screamed  in  the  woods;  a  Partridge  clucked  to 
its  brood,  like  the  gurgle  of  water  from  a  bottle  ;  a  King- 
fisher wound  his  rattle,  more  briefly  than  in  spring,  as  if 
we  now  knew  all  about  it  and  the  merest  hint  ought  to 
suffice ;  a  Fish-Hawk  flapped  into  the  water,  with  a  great 
rude  splash,  and  then  flew  heavily  away ;  a  flock  of  Wild 
Ducks  went  southward  overhead,  and  a  smaller  party 
returned  beneath  them,  flying  low  and  anxiously,  as  if  to 
pick  up  some  lost  baggage ;  and,  at  last,  a  Loon  laughed 
loud  from  behind  a  distant  island,  and  it  was  pleasant  to 
people  these  woods  and  waters  with  that  wild  shouting, 
linking  them  with  Katahdin  Lake  and  Amperzand. 

But  the  later  the  birds  linger  in  the  autumn,  the  more 
their  aspect  differs  from  that  of  spring.  In  spring,  they 
come,  jubilant,  noisy,  triumphant,  from  the  South,  the 
winter  conquered  and  the  long  journey  done.  In  au- 
tumn, they  come  timidly  from  the  North,  and,  pausing 
on  their  anxious  retreat,  lurk  within  the  fading  copses 
and  twitter  snatches  of  song  as  fading.  Others  fly  as 
openly  as  ever,  but  gather  in  flocks,  as  the  Robins,  most 
piteous  of  all  birds  at  this  season,  —  thin,  faded,  ragged, 
their  bold  note  sunk  to  a  feeble  quaver,  and  their  manner 
a  mere  caricature  of  that  inexpressible  military  smartness 
with  which  they  held  up  their  heads  in  May. 

Yet  I  cannot  really  find  anything  sad  even  in  Novem- 
ber. When  I  think  of  the  thrilling  beauty  of  the  season 
past,  the  birds  that  came  and  went,  the  insects  that  took 
up  the  choral  song  as  the  birds  grew  silent,  the  procession 
of  the  flowers,  the  glory  of  autumn,  —  and  when  I  think 
that,  this  also  ended,  a  new  gallery  of  wonder  is  opening, 
almost  more  beautiful,  in  the  magnificence  of  frost  and 
snow,  —  there  comes  an  impression  of  affluence  and  liber- 
ality in  the  universe  which  seasons  of  changeless  and  un- 


THE  LIFE   OF  BIRDS.  315 

eventful  verdure  would  never  give.  The  catkins  already 
formed  on  the  alder,  quite  prepared  to  droop  into  April's 
beauty,  —  the  white  edges  of  the  May-flower's  petals, 
already  visible  through  the  bud,  show  in  advance  that 
winter  is  but  a  slight  and  temporary  retardation  of  the 
life  of  Nature,  and  that  the  barrier  which  separates  No- 
vember from  March  is  not  really  more  solid  than  that 
which  parts  the  sunset  from  the  sunrise. 


THE 


PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 


THE   PROCESSION  OF  THE   FLOWERS. 


IN  Cuba  there  is  a  blossoming  shrub  whose  multitudi- 
nous crimson  flowers  are  so  seductive  to  the  hum- 
ming-birds that  they  hover  all  day  around  it,  buried  in  its 
blossoms  until  petal  and  wing  seem  one.  At  first  up- 
right, the  gorgeous  bells  droop  downward,  and  fall  un- 
withered  to  the  ground,  and  are  thence  called  by  the 
Creoles  "  Cupid's  Tears."  Fredrika  Bremer  relates  that 
daily  she  brought  home  handfuls  of  these  blossoms  to  her 
chamber,  and  nightly  they  all  disappeared.  One  morning 
she  looked  toward  the  wall  of  the  apartment,  and  there, 
in  a  long  crimson  line,  the  delicate  flowers  went  ascend- 
ing one  by  one  to  the  ceiling,  and  passed  from  sight. 
She  found  that  each  was  borne  laboriously  onward  by  a 
little  colorless  ant  much  smaller  than  itself:  the  bearer 
was  invisible,  but  the  lovely  burdens  festooned  the  wall 
with  beauty. 

To  a  watcher  from  the  sky,  the  march  of  the  flowers 
of  any  zone  across  the  year  would  seem  as  beautiful  as 
that  West- Indian  pageant.  These  frail  creatures,  rooted 
where  they  stand,  a  part  of  the  "  still  life  "  of  Nature,  yet 
share  her  ceaseless  motion.  In  the  most  sultry  silence  of 
summer  noons,  the  vital  current  is  coursing  with  desperate 
speed  through  the  innumerable  veins  of  every  leaflet: 


320     THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

and  the  apparent  stillness,  like  the  sleeping  of  a  child's 
top,  is  in  truth  the  very  ecstasy  of  perfected  motion. 

Not  in  the  tropics  only,  but  even  in  England,  whence 
most  of  our  floral  associations  and  traditions  come,  the 
march  of  the  flowers  is  in  an  endless  circle,  and,  unlike  our 
experience,  something  is  always  in  bloom.  In  the  North- 
ern United  States,  it  is  said,  the  active  growth  of  most 
plants  is  condensed  into  ten  weeks,  while  in  the  mother 
country  the  full  activity  is  maintained  through  sixteen. 
But  even  the  English  winter  does  not  seem  to  be  a  win- 
ter, in  the  same  sense  as  ours,  appearing  more  like  a 
chilly  and  comfortless  autumn.  There  is  no  month  in  the 
year  when  some  special  plant  does  not  bloom :  the  Colts- 
foot there  opens  its  fragrant  flowers  from  December  to 
February ;  the  yellow-flowered  Hellebore,  and  its  cousin, 
the  sacred  Christmas  Rose  of  Glastonbury,  extend  from 
January  to  March ;  and  the  Snowdrop  and  Primrose 
often  come  before  the  first  of  February.  Something  may 
be  gained,  much  lost,  by  that  perennial  succession ;  those 
links,  however  slight,  must  make  the  floral  period  con- 
tinuous to  the  imagination  ;  while  our  year  gives  a  pause 
and  an  interval  to  its  children,  and  after  exhausted  Octo- 
ber has  effloresced  into  Witch-Hazel,  there  is  ah  absolute 
reserve  of  blossom,  until  the  Alders  wave  again. 

No  symbol  could  so  well  represent  Nature's  first  yield- 
ing in  spring-time  as  this  blossoming  of  the  Alder,  this 
drooping  of  the  tresses  of  these  tender  things.  Before 
the  frost  is  gone,  and  while  the  new-born  season  is  yet  too 
weak  to  assert  itself  by  actually  uplifting  anything,  it  can 
at  least  let  fall  these  blossoms,  one  by  one,  till  they  wave 
defiance  to  the  winter  on  a  thousand  boughs.  How  pa- 
tiently they  have  waited !  Men  are  perplexed  with  anx- 
ieties about  their  own  immortality;  but  these  catkins, 


THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS.     321 

which  hang,  almost  full-formed,  above  the  ice  all  winter, 
show  no  such  solicitude,  but  when  March  wooes  them 
they  are  ready.  Once  relaxing,  their  pollen  is  so  prompt 
to  fall  that  it  sprinkles  your  hand  as  you  gather  them ; 
then,  for  one  day,  they  are  the  perfection  of  grace  upon 
your  table,  and  next  day  they  are  weary  and  emaciated, 
and  their  little  contribution  to  the  spring  is  done. 

Then  many  eyes  watch  for  the  opening  of  the  May- 
flower, day  by  day,  and  a  few  for  the  Hepatica.  So 
marked  and  fantastic  are  the  local  preferences  of  all  our 
plants,  that,  with  miles  of  woods  and  meadows  open  to 
their  choice,  each  selects  only  some  few  spots  for  its  ac- 
customed abodes,  and  some  one  among  them  all  for  its 
very  earliest  blossoming.  There  is  always  some  single 
chosen  nook,  which  you  might  almost  cover  with  your 
handkerchief,  where  each  flower  seems  to  bloom  earliest, 
without  variation,  year  by  year.  I  know  one  such  place 
for  Hepatica  a  mile  northeast,  —  another  for  May-flowei 
two  miles  southwest ;  and  each  year  the  whimsical  crea- 
ture is  in  bloom  on  that  little  spot,  when  not  another 
flower  can  be  found  open  through  the  whole  country 
round.  Accidental  as  the  choice  may  appear,  it  is  un- 
doubtedly based  on  laws  more  eternal  than  the  stars ;  yet 
why  all  subtile  influences  conspire  to  bless  that  undistin- 
guishable  knoll  no  man  can  say.  Another  and  similar 
puzzle  offers  itself  in  the  distribution  of  the  tints  of  flow- 
ers,—  in  these  two  species  among  the  rest.  There  are 
certain  localities,  near  by,  where  the  Hepatica  is  all  but 
white,  and  others  where  the  May-flower  is  sumptuous  in 
pink  :  yet  it  is  not  traceable  to  wet  or  dry,  sun  or  shadow, 
and  no  agricultural  chemistry  can  disclose  the  secret.  Is 
it  by  some  Darwinian  law  of  selection  that  the  white 
Hepatica  has  utterly  overpowered  the  blue,  in  our  Gas- 
14*  u 


322     THE  PROCESSION  OF   THE  FLOWERS. 

cade  Woods,  for  instance,  while  yet  in  the  very  midst  of 
this  pale  plantation  a  single  clump  will  sometimes  bloom 
with  all  heaven  on  its  petals  ?  Why  can  one  recognize 
the  Plymouth  May-flower,  as  soon  as  seen,  by  its  won- 
drous depth  of  color  ?  Does  it  blush  with  triumph  to  see 
how  Nature  has  outwitted  the  Pilgrims,  and  even  suc- 
ceeded in  preserving  her  deer  like  an  English  duke,  still 
maintaining  the  deepest  woods  in  Massachusetts  precisely 
where  those  sturdy  immigrants  first  began  their  clearings  ? 

The  Hepatica  (called  also  Liverwort,  Squirrel-Cup,  or 
Blue  Anemone)  has  been  found  in  Worcester  as  early  as 
March  seventeenth,  and  in  Danvers  on  March  twelfth,  — 
dates  which  appear  almost  the  extreme  of  credibility. 

Our  next  wild-flower  in  this  region  is  the  Claytonia,  or 
Spring-Beauty,  which  is  common  in  the  Middle  States, 
but  here  found  in  only  a  few  localities.  It  is  the  Indian 
Miskodeed,  and  was  said  to  have  been  left  behind  when 
mighty  Peboan,  the  Winter,  was  melted  by  the  breath  of 
Spring.  It  is  an  exquisitely  delicate  little  creature,  bears 
its  blossoms  in  clusters,  unlike  most  of  the  early  species, 
and  opens  in  gradual  succession  each  white  and  pink- 
veined  bell.  It  grows  in  moist  places  on  the  sunny  edges 
of  woods,  and  prolongs  its  shy  career  from  about  the 
tenth  of  April  until  almost  the  end  of  May. 

A  week  farther  into  April,  and  the  Bloodroot  opens,  — 
a  name  of  guilt,  and  a  type  of  innocence.  This  fresh  and 
lovely  thing  appears  to  concentrate  all  its  stains  within  its 
ensanguined  root,  that  it  may  condense  all  purity  in  the 
peculiar  whiteness  of  its  petals.  It  emerges  from  the 
ground  with  each  shy  blossom  wrapt  in  its  own  pale-green 
leaf,  then  doffs  the  cloak  and  spreads  its  long  petals  round 
a  group  of  yellow  stamens.  The  flower  falls  apart  so 
easily,  that  when  in  full  bloom  it  will  hardly  bear  trans- 


THE  PROCESSION  OF   THE  FLuWERS.     323 

portation,  but  with  a  touch  the  stem  stands  naked,  a  bare 
gold-tipped  sceptre  amid  drifts  of  snow.  And  the  contra- 
diction of  its  hues  seems  carried  into  its  habits.  One  of 
the  most  shy  of  wild  plants,  easily  banished  from  its  local- 
ity by  any  invasion,  it  yet  takes  to  the  garden  with  unpar- 
donable readiness,  doubles  its  size,  blossoms  earlier,  re- 
pudiates its  love  of  water,  and  flaunts  its  great  leaves  in 
the  unnatural  confinement,  until  it  elbows  out  the  exotics. 
Its  charm  is  gone,  unless  one  find  it  in  its  native  haunts, 
beside  some  cascade  which  streams  over  rocks  that  are 
dark  with  moisture,  green  with  moss,  and  snowy  with 
white  bubbles.  Each  spray  of  dripping  feather-moss  ex- 
udes a  tiny  torrent  of  its  own,  or  braided  with  some  tiny 
neighbor,  above  the  little  water-fonts  which  sleep  sunless 
in  ever-verdant  caves.  Sometimes  along  these  emerald 
canals  there  comes  a  sudden  rush  and  hurry,  as  if  some 
anxious  housekeeper  upon  the  hill  above  were  afraid  that 
things  were  not  stirring  fast  enough, — and  then  again  the 
waving  and  sinuous  lines  of  water  are  quieted  to  a  serener 
flow.  The  delicious  red  thrush  and  the  busy  little  yellow- 
throat  are  not  yet  come  to  this  their  summer  haunt ;  but 
all  day  long  the  answering  field-sparrows  trill  out  their 
sweet,  shy,  accelerating  lay. 

In  the  same  locah'ties  with  the  Bloodroot,  though  some 
days  later,  grows  the  Dog-Tooth  Violet,  —  a  name  hope- 
lessly inappropriate,  but  likely  never  to  be  changed. 
These  hardy  and  prolific  creatures  have  also  many  locali- 
ties of  their  own ;  for,  though  they  do  not  acquiesce  in 
cultivation,  like  the  sycophantic  Bloodroot,  yet  they  are 
hard  to  banish  from  their  native  haunts,  but  linger  after 
the  woods  are  cleared  and  the  meadow  drained.  The 
bright  flowers  blaze  back  all  the  yellow  light  of  noonday, 
as  the  gay  petals  curl  and  spread  themselves  above  their 


324     THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

beds  of  mottled  leaves ;  but  it  is  always  a  disappointment 
to  gather  them,  for  in-doors  they  miss  the  full  ardor  of 
the  sunbeams,  and  are  apt  to  go  to  sleep  and  nod  expres- 
sionless from  the  stalk. 

And  almost  on  the  same  day  with  this  bright  apparition 
one  may  greet  a  multitude  of  concurrent  visitors,  arriving 
so  accurately  together  that  it  is  almost  a  matter  of  acci- 
dent which  of  the  party  shall  first  report  himself.  Per- 
haps the  Dandelion  should  have  the  earliest  place ;  indeed, 
I  once  found  it  in  Brookline  on  the  seventh  of  April. 
But  it  cannot  ordinarily  be  expected  before  the  twentieth, 
in  Eastern  Massachusetts,  and  rather  later  in  the  interior ; 
while  by  the  same  date  I  have  also  found  near  Boston 
the  Cowslip  or  Marsh-Marigold,  the  Spring-Saxifrage,  the 
Anemones,  the  Violets,  the  Bellwort,  the  Houstonia,  the 
Cinquefoil,  and  the  Strawberry-blossom.  Varying,  of 
course,  in  different  spots  and  years,  the  arrival  of  this 
coterie  is  yet  nearly  simultaneous,  and  they  may  all  be 
expected  hereabouts  before  May-day  at  the  very  latest 
After  all,  in  spite  of  the  croakers,  this  festival  could  not 
have  been  much  better  timed,  the  delicate  blossoms  which 
mark  the  period  are  usually  in  perfection  on  this  day, 
and  it  is  not  long  before  they  are  past  their  prime. 

Some  early  plants  which  have  now  almost  disappeared 
from  Eastern  Massachusetts  are  still  found  near  Worces- 
ter in  the  greatest  abundance,  —  as  the  larger  Yellow 
Violet,  the  Red  Trillium,  the  Dwarf  Ginseng,  the  Clin- 
tonia  or  Wild  Lily-of-the- Valley,  and  the  pretty  fringed 
Polygala,  which  Miss  Cooper  christened  "  Gay- Wings." 
Others  again  are  now  rare  in  this  vicinity,  and  growing 
rarer,  though  still  abundant  a  hundred  miles  farther  in- 
land. In  several  bits  of  old  swampy  wood  one  may  still 
find,  usually  close  together,  the  Hobble-Bush  and  the 


THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS.     325 

Painted  Trillium,  the  Mitella,  or  Bishop's- Cap,  and  the 
snowy  Tiarella.  Others  again  have  entirely  vanished 
•within  ten  years,  and  that  in  some  cases  without  any  ade- 
quate explanation.  The  dainty  white  Corydalis,  profanely 
called  "  Dutchman's  Breeches,"  and  the  quaint  woolly 
Ledum,  or  Labrador  Tea,  have  disappeared  within  that 
time.  The  beautiful  Linnaea  is  still  found  annually,  but 
flowers  no  more ;  as  is  also  the  case,  in  all  but  one  distant 
locality,  with  the  once  abundant  Rhododendron.  Nothing 
in  Nature  has  for  me  a  more  fascinating  interest  than 
these  secret  movements  of  vegetation,  —  the  sweet  blind 
instinct  with  which  flowers  cling  to  old  domains  until  ab- 
solutely compelled  to  forsake  them.  How  touching  is  the 
fact,  now  well  known,  that  salt-water  plants  still  flower 
beside  the  Great  Lakes,  yet  dreaming  of  the  time  when 
those  waters  were  briny  as  the  sea!  Nothing  hi  the 
demonstrations  of  Geology  seems  grander  than  the  light 
lately  thrown  by  Professor  Gray,  from  the  analogies  be- 
tween the  flora  of  Japan  and  of  North  America,  upon  the 
successive  epochs  of  heat  which  led  the  wandering  flowers 
along  the  Arctic  lands,  and  of  cold  which  isolated  them 
once  more.  Yet  doubtless  these  humble  movements  of 
our  local  plants  may  be  laying  up  results  as  important, 
and  may  hereafter  supply  evidence  of  earth's  changes 
upon  some  smaller  scale. 

May  expands  to  its  prime  of  beauty ;  the  summer  birds 
come  with  the  fruit-blossoms,  the  gardens  are  deluged 
with  bloom,  and  the  air  with  melody,  while  in  the  woods 
the  timid  spring  flowers  fold  themselves  away  in  silence 
and  give  place  to  a  brighter  splendor.  On  the  margin  ol 
some  quiet  swamp  a  myriad  of  bare  twigs  seem  suddenly 
overspread  with  purple  butterflies,  and  we  know  that  the 
Ehodora  is  in  bloom.  Wordsworth  never  immortalized  a 


326     THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

flower  more  surely  than  Emerson  this,  and  it  needs  nc 
weaker  words ;  there  is  nothing  else  in  which  the  change 
from  nakedness  to  beauty  is  so  sudden,  and  when  you 
bring  home  the  great  mass  of  blossoms  they  appear  all 
ready  to  flutter  away  again  from  your  hands  and  leave 
you  disenchanted. 

At  the  same  time  the  beautiM  Cornel-tree  is  in  perfec- 
tion ;  startling  as  a  tree  of  the  tropics,  it  flaunts  its  great 
flowers  high  up  among  the  forest-branches,  intermingling 
its  long  slender  twigs  with  theirs,  and  garnishing  them 
with  alien  blooms.  It  is  very  available  for  household 
decoration,  with  its  four  great  creamy  petals,  —  flowers 
they  are  not,  but  floral  involucres,  —  each  with  a  fantastic 
curl  and  stain  at  its  tip,  as  if  the  fire-flies  had  alighted  on 
them  and  scorched  them ;  and  yet  I  like  it  best  as  it  peers 
out  in  barbaric  splendor  from  the  delicate  green  of  young 
Maples.  And  beneath  it  grows  often  its  more  abundant 
kinsman,  the  Dwarf  Cornel,  with  the  same  four  great 
petals  enveloping  its  floral  cluster,  but  lingering  low  upon 
the  ground,  —  an  herb  whose  blossoms  mimic  the  statelier 
tree. 

The  same  rich  creamy  hue  and  texture  show  them- 
selves in  the  Wild  Calla,  which  grows  at  this  season  in 
dark,  sequestered  water-courses,  and  sometimes  well 
rivals,  in  all  but  size,  that  superb  whiteness  out  of  a  land 
of  darkness,  the  Ethiopic  Calla  of  the  conservatory.  At 
this  season,  too,  we  seek  another  semi-aquatic  rarity, 
whose  homely  name  cannot  deprive  it  of  a  certain  garden- 
like  elegance,  the  Buckbean.  This  is  one  of  the  shy 
plants  which  yet  grow  in  profusion  within  their  own  do- 
main. I  have  found  it  of  old  in  Cambridge,  and  then 
upon  the  pleasant  shallows  of  the  Artichoke,  that  love- 
liest tributary  of  the  Merrimack,  and  I  have  never  seen 


THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS.     327 

it  where  it  occupied  a  patch  more  than  a  few  yards 
square,  while  yet  within  that  space  the  multitudinous 
spikes  grow  always  tall  and  close,  reminding  one  of  hya- 
cinths, when  in  perfection,  but  more  delicate  and  beauti- 
ful. The  only  locality  I  know  for  it  in  this  vicinity  lies 
seven  miles  away,  where  a  little  inlet  from  the  lower 
winding  bays  of  Lake  Quinsigamond  goes  stealing  up 
among  a  farmer's  hay-fields,  and  there,  close  beside  the 
public  road  and  in  full  view  of  the  farm-house,  this  rare 
creature  fills  the  water.  But  to  reach  it  we  commonly 
row  down  the  lake  to  a  sheltered  lagoon,  separated  from 
the  main  lake  by  a  long  island  which  is  gradually  forming 
itself  like  the  coral  isles,  growing  each  year  denser  with 
alder  thickets  where  the  king-birds  build ;  —  there  leave 
the  boat  among  the  lily-leaves,  and  take  a  lane  which 
winds  among  the  meadows  and  gives  a  fitting  avenue  for 
the  pretty  thing  we  seek.  But  it  is  not  safe  to  vary 
many  days  from  the  twentieth  of  May,  for  the  plant  is 
not  long  in  perfection,  and  is  past  its  prime  when  the 
lower  blossoms  begin  to  wither  on  the  stem. 

But  should  we  miss  this  delicate  adjustment  of  time,  it 
is  easy  to  console  ourselves  with  bright  armfuls  of  Lupine, 
which  bounteously  flowers  for  six  weeks  along  our  lake- 
side, ranging  from  the  twenty-third  of  May  to  the  sixth 
of  July.  The  Lupine  is  one  of  our  most  travelled  plants ; 
for,  though  never  seen  off  the  American  continent,  it 
stretches  to  the  Pacific,  and  is  found  upon  the  Arctic 
coast.  On  these  banks  of  Lake  Quinsigamond  it  grows 
in  great  families,  and  should  be  gathered  in  masses  and 
placed  in  a  vase  by  itself;  for  it  needs  no  relief  from 
other  flowers,  its  own  soft  leaves  afford  background 
enough,  and  though  the  white  variety  rarely  occurs,  yet 
the  varying  tints  of  blue  upon  the  same  stalk  are  a  per- 


828     THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

petual  gratification  to  the  eye.  I  know  not  why  shaded 
blues  should  be  so  beautiful  in  flowers,  and  yet  avoided  as 
distasteful  in  ladies'  fancy-work ;  but  it  is  a  mystery  like 
that  which  repudiates  blue-and-green  from  all  well-regu 
lated  costumes,  while  Nature  yet  evidently  prefers  it  to 
any  other  combination  in  her  wardrobe. 

Another  constant  ornament  of  the  end  of  May  is 
the  large  pink  Lady's-Slipper,  or  Moccason-Flower,  the 
"  Cypripedium  not  due  till  to-morrow  "  which  Emerson 
attributes  to  the  note-book  of  Thoreau,  —  to-morrow,  in 
these  parts,  meaning  about  the  twentieth  of  May.  It  be- 
longs to  the  family  of  Orchids,  a  high-bred  race,  fastidious 
in  habits,  sensitive  as  to  abodes.  Of  the  ten  species 
named  as  rarest  among  American  endogenous  plants  by 
Dr.  Gray,  in  his  valuable  essay  on  the  statistics  of  our 
Northern  Flora,  all  but  one  are  Orchids.  And  even  an 
abundant  species,  like  the  present,  retains  the  family 
traits  in  its  person,  and  never  loses  its  high-born  air  and 
its  delicate  veining.  I  know  a  grove  where  it  can  be 
gathered  by  the  hundreds  within  a  half-acre,  and  yet  I 
never  can  divest  myself  of  the  feeling  that  each  specimen 
is  a  choice  novelty.  But  the  actual  rarity  occurs,  at  least 
in  this  region,  when  one  finds  the  smaller  and  more  beau- 
tiful Yellow  Moccason-Flower, — pannflorum,  —  which 
accepts  only  our  very  choicest  botanical  locality,  the 
"Rattlesnake  Ledge"  on  Tatessit  Hill,  — and  may,  for 
aught  I  know,  have  been  the  very  plant  which  Elsie 
Venner  laid  upon  her  schoolmistress's  desk. 

June  is  an  intermediate  month  between  the  spring  and 
summer  flowers.  Of  the  more  delicate  early  blossoms, 
the  Dwarf  Cornel,  the  Solomon's-Seal,  and  the  Yellow 
Violet  still  linger  in  the  woods,  but  rapidly  make  way  for 
larger  masses  and  more  conspicuous  hues.  The  meadows 


THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS.     329 

are  gorgeous  with  Clover,  Buttercups,  and  Wild  Gera- 
nium ;  but  Nature  is  a  little  chary  for  a  week  or  two, 
maturing  a  more  abundant  show.  Meanwhile  one  may 
afford  to  take  some  pains  to  search  for  another  rarity,  al- 
most disappearing  from  this  region,  —  the  lovely  Pink 
Azalea.  It  still  grows  plentifully  in  a  few  sequestered 
places,  selecting  woody  swamps  to  hide  itself;  and  cer- 
tainly no  shrub  suggests,  when  found,  more  tropical  asso- 
ciations. Those  great,  nodding,  airy,  fragrant  clusters, 
tossing  far  above  one's  head  their  slender  cups  of  honey, 
seem  scarcely  to  belong  to  our  sober  zone,  any  more  than 
the  scarlet  tanager  which  sometimes  builds  its  nest  beside 
them.  They  appear  bright  exotics,  which  have  wandered 
into  our  woods,  and  seem  too  happy  to  feel  any  wish  for 
exit.  And  just  as  they  fade,  their  humbler  sister  in  white 
begins  to  bloom,  and  carries  on  through  the  summer  the 
same  intoxicating  fragrance. 

But  when  June  is  at  its  height,  the  sculptured  chalices 
of  the  Mountain  Laurel  begin  to  unfold,  and  thencefor- 
ward, for  more  than  a  month,  extends  the  reign  of  this 
our  woodland  queen.  I  know  not  why  one  should  sigh 
after  the  blossoming  gorges  of  the  Himalaya,  when  our 
forests  are  all  so  crowded  with  this  glowing  magnificence, 
—  rounding  the  tangled  swamps  into  smoothness,  lighting 
up  the  underwoods,  overtopping  the  pastures,  lining  the 
rural  lanes,  and  rearing  its  great  pinkish  masses  till  they 
meet  overhead.  The  color  ranges  from  the  purest  white 
to  a  perfect  rose-pink,  and  there  is  an  inexhaustible  vege- 
table vigor  about  the  whole  thing,  which  puts  to  shame 
those  tenderer  shrubs  that  shrink  before  the  progress  of 
cultivation.  There  is  the  Rhododendron,  for  instance,  a 
plant  of  the  same  natural  family  with  the  Laurel  and  the 
Azalea,  and  looking  more  robust  and  woody  than  either 


330     THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWER*. 

it  once  grew  in  many  localities  in  this  region,  and  still 
lingers  in  a  few,  without  consenting  either  to  die  or  to 
blossom,  and  there  is  only  one  remote  place  from  which 
any  one  now  brings  into  our  streets  those  large  luxuriant 
flowers,  waving  white  above  the  dark  green  leaves,  and 
bearing  "just  a  dream  of  sunset  on  their  edges,  and  just 
a  breath  from  the  green  sea  in  their  hearts."  But  the 
Laurel,  on  the  other  hand,  maintains  its  ground,  imper- 
turbable and  almost  impassable,  on  every  hillside,  takes 
no  hints,  suspects  no  danger,  and  nothing  but  the  most 
unmistakable  onset  from  spade  or  axe  can  diminish  its 
profusion.  Gathering  it  on  the  most  lavish  scale  seems 
only  to  serve  as  wholesome  pruning ;  nor  can  I  conceive 
that  the  Indians,  who  once  ruled  over  this  whole  county 
from  Wigwam  Hill,  could  ever  have  found  it  more  incon- 
veniently abundant  than  now.  We  have  perhaps  no 
single  spot  where  it  grows  in  such  perfect  picturesqueness 
as  at  "  The  Laurels,"  on  the  Merrimack,  just  above  New- 
buryport,  —  a  whole  hillside  scooped  out  and  the  hollow 
piled  solidly  with  flowers,  the  pines  curving  around  it 
above,  and  the  river  encircling  it  below,  on  which  your 
boat  glides  along,  and  you  look  up  through  glimmering 
arcades  of  bloom.  But  for  the  last  half  of  June  it  monop- 
olizes everything  in  the  Worcester  woods,  —  no  one  picks 
anything  else  ;  and  it  fades  so  slowly  that  I  have  found  a 
perfect  blossom  on  the  last  day  of  July. 

At  the  same  time  with  this  'royalty  of  the  woods,  the 
queen  of  the  water  ascends  her  throne,  for  a  reign  as  un- 
disputed and  far  more  prolonged.  The  extremes  of  the 
Water-Lily  in  this  vicinity,  so  far  as  I  have  known,  are 
the  eighteenth  of  June  and  the  thirteenth  of  October,  — 
a  longer  range  than  belongs  to  any  other  conspicuous 
wild-flower,  unless  we  except  the  Dandelion  and  Hous* 


THE  PROCESSION  OF    THE  FLOWERS.     331 

tonia.  It  is  not  only  the  most  fascinating  of  all  flowers  to 
gatW  but  more  available  for  decorative  purposes  than 
aiuiuot  any  other,  if  it  can  only  be  kept  fresh.  The  best 
method  for  this  purpose,  I  believe,  is  to  cut  the  stalk  very 
short  before  placing  in  the  vase  ;  then,  at  night,  the  lily 
will  close  and  the  stalk  curl  upward ;  —  refresh  them  by 
changing  the  water,  and  hi  the  morning  the  stalk  will  be 
straight  and  the  flower  open. 

From  this  time  forth  Summer  has  it  all  her  own  way. 
After  the  first  of  July  the  yellow  flowers  begin  to  match 
the  yellow  fire-flies ;  Hawkweeds,  Loosestrifes,  Primroses 
bloom,  and  the  bushy  Wild  Indigo.  The  variety  of  hues 
increases  ;  delicate  purple  Orchises  bloom  in  their  chosen 
haunts,  and  Wild  Roses  blush  over  hill  and  dale.  On 
peat-meadows  the  Adder's-Tongue  Arethusa  (now  called 
Pogonia)  flowers  profusely,  with  a  faint,  delicious  per- 
fume, —  and  its  more  elegant  cousin,  the  Calopogon,  by  its 
side.  In  this  vicinity  we  miss  the  blue  Harebell,  the 
identical  harebell  of  Ellen  Douglas,  which  I  remember 
waving  its  exquisite  flowers  along  the  banks  of  the  Merri- 
mack,  and  again  at  Brattleboro',  below  the  cascade  in  the 
village,  where  it  has  climbed  the  precipitous  sides  of  old 
buildings,  and  nods  inaccessibly  from  their  crevices,  in 
that  picturesque  spot,  looking  down  on  the  hurrying  river. 
But  with  this  exception,  there  is  nothing  wanting  here  of 
the  flowers  of  early  summer. 

The  more  closely  one  studies  Nature,  the  finer  her 
adaptations  grow.  For  instance,  the  change  of  seasons  is 
analogous  to  a  change  of  zones,  and  summer  assimilates 
our  vegetation  to  that  of  the  tropics.  In  those  lands,  Hum- 
boldt  has  remarked,  one  misses  the  beauty  of  wild-flowers 
in  the  grass,  because  the  luxuriance  of  vegetation  develops 
everything  into  shrubs.  The  form  and  color  are  beauti- 


332     THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

ful,  "  but,  being  too  high  above  the  soil,  they  disturb  that 
harmonious  proportion  which  characterizes  the  plants  of 
our  European  meadows.  Nature  has,  hi  every  zone, 
stamped  on  the  landscape  the  peculiar  type  of  beauty 
proper  to  the  locality."  But  every  midsummer  reveals 
the  same  tendency.  In  early  spring,  when  all  is  bare, 
and  small  objects  are  easily  made  prominent,  the  wild- 
flowers  are  generally  delicate.  Later,  when  all  verdure 
is  profusely  expanded,  these  miniature  strokes  would  be 
lost,  and  Nature  then  practises  landscape-gardening  in 
large,  lights  up  the  copses  with  great  masses  of  White 
Alder,  makes  the  roadsides  gay  with  Aster  and  Golden- 
Rod,  and  tops  the  tall  coarse  Meadow-Grass  with  nodding 
Lilies  and  tufted  Spiraea.  One  instinctively  follows  these 
plain  hints,  and  gathers  bouquets  sparingly  in  spring  and 
exuberantly  in  summer. 

The  use  of  wild-flowers  for  decorative  purposes  merits 
a  word  in  passing,  for  it  is  unquestionably  a  branch  of 
high  art  in  favored  hands.  It  is  true  that  we  are  bidden, 
on  high  authority,  to  love  the  wood-rose  and  leave  it  on 
its  stalk ;  but  against  this  may  be  set  the  saying  of  Bet- 
tine,  that  "  all  flowers  which  are  broken  become  immortal 
in  the  sacrifice  "  ;  and  certainly  the  secret  harmonies  of 
these  fair  creatures  are  so  marked  and  delicate  that  we  do 
not  understand  them  till  we  try  to  group  floral  decorations 
for  ourselves.  The  most  successful  artists  will  not,  for 
instance,  consent  to  put  those  together  which  do  not  grow 
together;  Nature  understands  her  business,  and  distributes 
her  masses  and  backgrounds  unerringly.  Yonder  soft  and 
feathery  Meadow-Sweet  longs  to  be  combined  with  Wild 
Roses:  it  yearns  towards  them  in  the  field,  and,  after  wifl. 
ering  in  the  hand  most  readily,  it  revives  in  water  as  if  tc 
be  with  them  in  the  vase.  In  the  same  way  the  White 


THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS.     333 

Spiraea  serves  as  natural  background  for  the  Field-Lilies. 
These  lilies,  by  the  way,  are  the  brightest  adornment  of 
our  meadows  during  the  short  period  of  their  perfection. 
"We  have  two  species :  one  slender,  erect,  solitary,  scarlet, 
looking  up  to  heaven  with  all  its  blushes  on ;  the  other 
clustered,  drooping,  pale-yellow.  I  never  saw  the  former 
in  such  profusion  as  last  week,  on  the  bare  summit  of 
Wachusett.  The  granite  ribs  have  there  a  thin  covering 
of  crispest  moss,  spangled  with  the  white  starry  blossoms 
of  the  Mountain  Cinquefoil ;  and  as  I  lay  and  watched  the 
red  lilies  that  waved  their  innumerable  urns  around  me, 
it  needed  but  little  imagination  to  see  a  thousand  altars, 
sending  visible  flames  forever  upward  to  the  answering 
sun. 

August  comes :  the  Thistles  are  out,  beloved  of  butter- 
flies ;  deeper  and  deeper  tints,  more  passionate  intensities 
of  color,  prepare  the  way  for  the  year's  decline.  A  wealth 
of  gorgeous  Golden-Rod  waves  over  all  the  hills,  and  en- 
riches every  bouquet  one  gathers ;  its  bright  colors  com- 
mand the  eye,  and  it  is  graceful  as  an  elm.  Fitly  arranged, 
it  gives  a  bright  relief  to  the  superb  beauty  of  the  Cardinal- 
Flowers,  the  brilliant  blue-purple  of  the  Vervain,  the  pearl- 
white  of  the  Life-Everlasting,  the  delicate  lilac  of  the 
Monkey-Flower,  the  soft  pink  and  white  of  the  Spiraeas, 
—  for  the  white  yet  lingers,  —  all  surrounded  by  trailing 
wreaths  of  blossoming  Clematis. 

But  the  Cardinal-Flower  is  best  seen  by  itself,  and, 
indeed,  needs  the  surroundings  of  its  native  haunts  to  dis- 
play its  fullest  beauty.  Its  favorite  abode  is  along  the 
dank  mossy  stones  of  some  black  and  winding  brook, 
shaded  with  overarching  bushes,  and  running  one  long 
stream  of  scarlet  with  these  superb  occupants.  It  seema 
amazing  how  anything  so  brilliant  can  mature  in  such  9 


334     THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

darkness.  When  a  ray  of  sunlight  strays  in  upon  it,  the 
wondrous  creature  seems  to  hover  on  the  stalk,  ready  to 
take  flight,  like  some  lost  tropic  bird.  There  is  a  spot 
whence  I  have  in  ten  minutes  brought  away  as  many  as  I 
could  hold  in  both  arms,  some  bearing  fifty  blossoms  on  a 
single  stalk  ;  and  I  could  not  believe  that  there  was  such 
another  mass  of  color  in  the  world.  Nothing  cultivated  is 
comparable  to  them ;  and,  with  all  the  talent  lately  lav- 
ished on  wild-flower  painting.  I  have  never  seen  the  pecu- 
liar sheen  of  these  petals  in  the  least  degree  delineated. 
It  seems  some  new  and  separate  tint,  equally  distinct  from 
scarlet  and  from  crimson,  a  splendor  for  which  there  is  as 
yet  no  name,  but  only  the  reality. 

It  seems  the  signal  of  autumn,  when  September  exhibits 
the  first  Barrel-Gentian  by  the  roadside ;  and  there  is  a 
pretty  insect  in  the  meadows — the  Mourning-Cloak  Moth 
it  might  be  called — which  gives  coincident  warning.  The 
innumerable  Asters  mark  this  period  with  their  varied  and 
wide-spread  beauty  ;  the  meadows  are  full  of  rose-colored 
Poly  gala,  of  the  white  spiral  spikes  of  the  Ladies'-Tresses, 
and  of  the  fringed  loveliness  of  the  Gentian.  This  flower, 
always  unique  and  beautiful,  opening  its  delicate  eyelashes 
every  morning  to  the  sunlight,  closing  them  again  each 
night,  has  also  a  thoughtful  charm  about  it  as  the  last  of 
the  year's  especial  darlings.  It  lingers  long,  each  remain- 
ing blossom  growing  larger  and  more  deep  in  color,  as 
with  many  other  flowers ;  and  after  it  there  is  nothing 
for  which  to  look  forward,  save  the  fantastic  Witch- Hazel. 

On  the  water,  meanwhile,  the  last  White  Lilies  are 
sinking  beneath  the  surface,  the  last  gay  Pickerel-Weed 
is  gone,  though  the  rootless  plants  of  the  delicate  Bladder- 
Wort,  spreading  over  acres  of  shallows,  still  impurple  the 
wide,  smooth  surface.  Harriet  Prescott  says  that  some 


THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS.     335 

souls  are  like  the  Water-Lilies,  fixed,  yet  floating.  But 
others  are  like  this  graceful  purple  blossom,  floating  un* 
fixed,  kept  in  place  only  by  its  fellows  around  it,  until 
perhaps  a  breeze  comes,  and,  breaking  the  accidental 
cohesion,  sweeps  them  all  away. 

The  season  reluctantly  yields  its  reign,  and  over  the 
quiet  autumnal  landscape  everywhere,  even  after  the 
glory  of  the  trees  is  past,  there  are  tints  and  fascinations 
of  minor  beauty.  Last  October,  for  instance,  in  walking, 
I  found  myself  on  a  little  knoll,  looking  northward.  Over- 
head was  a  bower  of  climbing  Waxwork,  with  its  yellow- 
ish pods  scarce  disclosing  their  scarlet  berries,  —  a  wild 
Grape-vine,  with  its  fruit  withered  by  the  frost  into  still 
purple  raisins,  —  and  yellow  Beech-leaves,  detaching 
themselves  with  an  effort  audible  to  the  ear.  In  the 
foreground  were  blue  Raspberry-stems,  yet  bearing  green- 
ish leaves,  —  pale-yellow  Witch-Hazel,  almost  leafless, 
—  purple  Viburnum-berries,  —  the  silky  cocoons  of  the 
Milkweed,  —  and,  amid  the  underbrush,  a  few  lingering 
Asters  and  Golden-Rods,  Ferns  still  green,  and  Maiden- 
hair bleached  white.  In  the  background  were  hazy  hills, 
white  Birches  bare  and  snow-like,  and  a  Maple  half-way 
up  a  sheltered  hillside,  one  mass  of  canary-color,  its 
fallen  leaves  making  an  apparent  reflection  on  the  earth 
at  its  foot,  —  and  then  a  real  reflection,  fused  into  a  glassy 
light  intenser  than  itself,  upon  the  smooth,  dark  stream 
below. 

The  beautiful  disrobing  suggested  the  persistent  and 
unconquerable  delicacy  of  Nature,  who  shrinks  from 
nakedness  and  is  always  seeking  to  veil  her  graceful 
boughs,  —  if  not  with  leaves,  then  with  feathery  hoar- 
frost, ermined  snow,  or  transparent  icy  armor. 

But,  after  all,  the  fascination  of  summer  lies  not  in  any 


336     THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

details,  however  perfect,  but  in  the  sense  of  total  wealth 
which  summer  gives.  Wholly  to  enjoy  this,  one  must 
give  one's  self  passively  to  it,  and  not  expect  to  reproduce 
it  in  words.  We  strive  to  picture  heaven,  when  we  are 
barely  at  the  threshold  of  the  inconceivable  beauty  of 
earth.  Perhaps  the  truant  boy  who  simply  bathes  him- 
self hi  the  lake  and  then  basks  in  the  sunshine,  dimly  con- 
scious of  the  exquisite  loveliness  around  him,  is  wiser, 
because  humbler,  than  is  he  who  with  presumptuous 
phrases  tries  to  utter  it.  There  are  multitudes  of  mo- 
ments when  the  atmosphere  is  so  surcharged  with  luxury 
that  every  pore  of  the  body  becomes  an  ample  gate  for 
sensation  to  flow  in,  and  one  has  simply  to  sit  still  and  be 
filled.  In  after  years  the  memory  of  books  seems  barren 
or  vanishing,  compared  with  the  immortal  bequest  of  hours 
like  these.  Other  sources  of  illumination  seem  cisterns 
only ;  these  are  fountains.  They  may  not  increase  the 
mere  quantity  of  available  thought,  but  they  impart  to  it 
a  quality  which  is  priceless.  No  man  can  measure  what 
a  single  hour  with  Nature  may  have  contributed  to  the 
moulding  of  his  mind.  The  influence  is  self-renewing, 
and  'if  for  a  long  time  it  baffles  expression  by  reason  of 
its  fineness,  so  much  the  better  in  the  end. 

The  soul  is  like  a  musical  instrument :  it  is  not  enough 
that  it  be  framed  for  the  very  most  delicate  vibration,  but 
it  must  vibrate  long  and  often  before  the  fibres  grow  mel- 
low to  the  finest  waves  of  sympathy.  I  perceive  that  in 
the  veery's  carolling,  the  clover's  scent,  the  glistening  of 
the  water,  the  waving  wings  of  butterflies,  the  sunset  tints, 
the  floating  clouds,  there  are  attainable  infinitely  more 
subtile  modulations  of  delight  than  I  can  yet  reach  the 
sensibility  to  discriminate,  much  less  describe.  If,  in 
the  simple  process  of  writing,  one  could  physically  impart 


THE  PROCESSION  OF  THE  FLOWERS.    337 

to  this  page  the  fragrance  of  this  spray  of  azalea  beside 
me,  what  a  wonder  would  it  seem  !  —  and  yet  one  ought 
to  be  able,  by  the  mere  use  of  language,  to  supply  to  every 
reader  the  total  of  that  white,  honeyed,  trailing  sweetness, 
which  summer  insects  haunt  and  the  Spirit  of  the  Universe 
loves.  The  defect  is  not  in  language,  but  in  men.  There 
is  no  conceivable  beauty  of  blossom  so  beautiful  as  words, 
—  none  so  graceful,  none  so  perfumed.  It  is  possible  to 
dream  of  combinations  of  syllables  so  delicious  that  all  the 
dawning  and  decay  of  summer  cannot  rival  their  perfec- 
tion, nor  winter's  stainless  white  and  azure  match  their 
purity  and  their  charm.  To  write  them,  were  it  possible, 
would  be  to  take  rank  with  Nature;  nor  is  there  any 
other  method,  even  by  music,  for  human  art  to  reach  so 
high. 


SNOW. 


SNOW. 


ALL  through  the  long  hours  of  yesterday  the  low 
clouds  hung  close  above  our  heads,  to  pour  with 
more  unswerving  aim  their  constant  storm  of  sleet  and 
snow,  —  sometimes  working  in  soft  silence,  sometimes 
with  impatient  gusty  breaths,  but  always  busily  at  work. 
Darkness  brought  no  rest  to  these  laborious  warriors  of 
the  air,  but  only  fiercer  strife :  the  wild  winds  rose ;  noisy 
recruits,  they  howled  beneath  the  eaves,  or  swept  around 
the  walls,  like  hungry  wolves,  now  here,  now  there,  howl- 
ing at  opposite  doors.  Thus,  through  the  anxious  and 
wakeful  night,  the  storm  went  on.  The  household  lay 
vexed  by  broken  dreams,  with  changing  fancies  of  lost 
children  on  solitary  moors,  of  sleighs  hopelessly  over- 
turned in  drifted  and  pathless  gorges,  or  of  icy  cordage 
upon  disabled  vessels  in  Arctic  seas  ;  until  a  softer 
warmth,  as  of  sheltering  snow-wreaths,  lulled  all  into 
deeper  rest  till  morning. 

And  what  a  morning !  The  sun,  a  young  conqueror, 
sends  in  his  glorious  rays,  like  heralds,  to  rouse  us  for  the 
inspection  of  his  trophies.  The  baffled  foe,  retiring,  has 
left  far  and  near  the  high-heaped  spoils  behind.  The 
glittering  plains  own  the  new  victor.  Over  all  these  level 
and  wide-swept  meadows,  over  all  these  drifted,  spotlw 


342  SNOW. 

slopes,  he  is  proclaimed  undisputed  monarch.  On  the 
wooded  hillsides  the  startled  shadows  are  in  motion; 
they  flee  like  young  fawns,  bounding  upward  and  down- 
ward over  rock  and  dell,  as  through  the  long  gleaming 
arches  the  king  comes  marching  to  his  throne.  But 
shade  yet  lingers  undisturbed  in  the  valleys,  mingled 
with  timid  smoke  from  household  chimneys ;  blue  as  the 
smoke,  a  gauzy  haze  is  twined  around  the  brow  of  every 
distant  hill;  and  the  same  soft  azure  confuses  the  out- 
lines of  the  nearer  trees,  to  whose  branches  snowy  wreaths 
are  clinging,  far  up  among  the  boughs,  like  strange  new 
flowers.  Everywhere  the  unstained  surface  glistens  in 
the  sunbeams.  In  the  curves  and  wreaths  and  turrets  of 
the  drifts  a  blue  tinge  nestles.  The  fresh  pure  sky  an- 
swers to  it ;  every  cloud  has  vanished,  save  one  or  two 
which  linger  near  the  horizon,  pardoned  offenders,  seem- 
ing far  too  innocent  for  mischief,  although  their  dark  and 
sullen  brothers,  banished  ignominiously  below  the  hori- 
zon's verge,  may  be  plotting  nameless  treachery  there. 
The  brook  still  flows  visibly  through  the  valley,  and  the 
myriad  rocks  that  check  its  course  are  all  rounded  with 
fleecy  surfaces,  till  they  seem  like  flocks  of  tranquil  sheep 
that  drink  the  shallow  flood. 

The  day  is  one  of  moderate  cold,  but  clear  and  bracing ; 
the  air  sparkles  like  the  snow ;  everything  seems  dry  and 
resonant,  like  the  wood  of  a  violin.  All  sounds  are  mu- 
sical, —  the  voices  of  children,  the  cooing  of  doves,  the 
crowing  of  cocks,  the  chopping  of  wood,  the  creaking  of 
country  sleds,  the  sweet  jangle  of  sleigh-bells.  The  snow 
has  fallen  under  a  cold  temperature,  and  the  flakes  are 
perfectly  crystallized ;  every  shrub  we  pass  bears  wreatha 
which  glitter  as  gorgeously  as  the  n  -nila  in  the  constella- 
tion Perseus ;  but  in  another  hour  of  sunshine  every  one 


a>NOW.  343 

of  those  fragile  outlines  will  disappear,  and  the  white  sur- 
face glitter  no  longer  with  stars,  but  with  star-dust  On 
such  a  day,  the  universe  seems  to  hold  but  three  pure 
tints,  —  blue,  white,  and  green.  The  loveliness  of  the 
universe  seems  simplified  to  its  last  extreme  of  refined 
delicacy.  That  sensation  we  poor  mortals  often  have,  of 
being  just  on  the  edge  of  infinite  beauty,  yet  with  always 
a  lingering  film  between,  never  presses  down  more  closely 
than  on  days  like  this.  Everything  seems  perfectly  pre- 
pared to  satiate  the  soul  with  inexpressible  felicity,  if  we 
could  only,  by  one  infinitesimal  step  farther,  reach  the 
mood  to  dwell  in  it. 

Leaving  behind  us  the  sleighs  and  snow-shovels  of  the 
street,  we  turn  noiselessly  toward  the  radiant  margin  of 
the  sunlit  woods.  The  yellow  willows  on  the  causeway 
burn  like  flame  against  the  darker  background,  and  will 
burn  on  until  they  burst  into  April.  Yonder  pines  and 
hemlocks  stand  motionless  and  dark  against  the  sky.  The 
statelier  trees  have  already  shaken  all  the  snow  from 
their  summits,  but  it  still  clothes  the  lower  ones  with  a 
white  covering  that  looks  solid  as  marble.  Yet  see  how 
lightly  it  escapes!  —  a  slight  gust  shakes  a  single  tree, 
there  is  a  Staub-bach  for  a  moment,  and  the  branches 
stand  free  as  in  summer,  a  pyramid  of  green  amid  the 
whiteness  of  the  yet  imprisoned  forest.  Each  branch 
raises  itself  when  emancipated,  thus  changing  the  whole 
outline  of  the  growth ;  and  the  snow  beneath  is  punctured 
with  a  thousand  little  depressions,  where  the  petty  ava- 
lanches have  just  buried  themselves  and  disappeared. 

In  crossing  this  white  level,  we  nave. been  tracking  our 
way  across  an  invisible  pond,  whLh  was  alive  last  week 
with  five  hundred  skaters.  Now  Uere  is  a  foot  of  snow 
upon  it,  through  whieb.  there  is  a  boyish  excitement  in 


544  SNOW. 

making  the  first  path.  Looking  back  upon  our  track,  it 
proves  to  be  like  all  other  human  paths,  straight  in  inten- 
tion, but  slightly  devious  in  deed.  "We  have  gay  com- 
panions on  our  way;  for  a  breeze  overtakes  us,  and  a 
hundred  little  simooms  of  drift  whirl  along  beside  us, 
and  whelm  in  miniature  burial  whole  caravans  of  dry 
leaves.  Here,  too,  our  track  intersects  with  that  of  some 
previous  passer ;  he  has  but  just  gone  on,  judging  by  the 
freshness  of  the  trail,  and  we  can  study  his  character  and 
purposes.  The  large  boots  betoken  a  woodman  or  ice- 
man ;  yet  such  a  one  would  hardly  have  stepped  so  irres- 
olutely where  a  little  film  of  water  has  spread  between 
the  ice  and  snow  and  given  a  look  of  insecurity ;  and  here 
again  he  has  stopped  to  observe  the  wreaths  on  this  pen- 
dent bough,  and  this  snow-filled  bird's-nest  And  there 
the  footsteps  of  the  lover  of  beauty  turn  abruptly  to  the 
road  again,  and  he  vanishes  from  us  forever. 

As  we  wander  on  through  the  wood,  all  the  labyrinths 
of  summer  are  buried  beneath  one  white  inviting  path- 
way, and  the  pledge  of  perfect  loneliness  is  given  by  the 
unbroken  surface  of  the  all-revealing  snow.  There  ap- 
pears nothing  living  except  a  downy  woodpecker,  whirl- 
ing round  and  round  upon  a  young  beech-stem,  and  a  few 
sparrows,  plump  with  grass-seed  and  hurrying  with  jerk- 
ing flight  down  the  sunny  glade.  But  the  trees  furnish 
society  enough.  What  a  congress  of  ermined  kings  is 
this  circle  of  hemlocks,  which  stand,  white  in  their  soft 
raiment,  around  the  dais  of  this  woodland  pond!  Are 
they  held  here,  like  the  sovereigns  in  the  palace  of  thf> 
Sleeping  Beauty,  till  some  mortal  breaks  their  spell? 
What  sage  counsels  must  be  theirs,  as  they  nod  the^r 
weary  heads  and  whisper  ghostly  memories  and  old  men'? 
tales  to  each  other,  while  the  red  leaves  dance  on  th«- 


SNOW.  343 

snowy  gward  below,  or  a  fox  or  squirrel  steals  hurriedly 
through  the  wild  and  wintry  night !  Here  and  there  is 
some  discrowned  Lear,  who  has  thrown  off  his  regal 
mantle,  and  stands  hi  faded  russet,  misplaced  among  the 
monarchs. 

What  a  y  m pie  and  stately  hospitality  is  that  of  Nature 
in  winter !  The  season  which  the  residents  of  cities  think 
an  obstruction  is  in  the  country  an  extension  of  inter- 
course :  it  opens  every  forest  from  here  to  Labrador,  free 
of  entrance ;  the  most  tangled  thicket,  the  most  treacher- 
ous marsh,  becomes  passable;  and  the  lumberer  or  moose- 
hunter,  mounted  on  his  snow-shoes,  has  the  world  before 
him.  He  says  "good  snow-shoeing,"  as  we  say  "good 
sleighing " ;  and  it  gives  a  sensation  like  a  first  visit  to 
the  sea-side  and  the  shipping,  when  one  first  sees  exhib- 
ited for  sale,  in  the  streets  of  Bangor  or  Montreal,  these 
delicate  Indian  conveyances.  It  seems  as  if  a  new  ele- 
ment were  suddenly  opened  for  travel,  and  all  due  facili- 
ties provided.  One  expects  to  go  a  little  farther,  and  see 
in  the  shop-windows,  "  Wings  for  sale,  —  gentlemen's  and 
ladies'  sizes."  The  snow-shoe  and  the  birch  canoe,  — 
what  other  dying  race  ever  left  behind  it  two  memorials 
so  perfect  and  so  graceful. 

The  shadows  thrown  by  the  trees  upon  the  snow  are 
blue  and  soft,  sharply  defined,  and  so  contrasted  with  the 
gleaming  white  as  to  appear  narrower  than  the  boughs 
which  cast  them.  There  is  something  subtle  and  fantas- 
tic about  these  shadows.  Here  is  a  leafless  larch-sapling, 
eight  feet  high.  The  image  of  the  lower  boughs  is  traced 
upon  the  snow,  distinct  and  firm  as  cordage,  while  the 
higher  ones  grow  dimmer  by  fine  gradations,  until  the 
slender  topmost  twig  is  blurred,  and  almost  effaced.  But 
\e  denser  upper  spire  of  the  young  spruce  by  its  side 

15* 


846  SNOW. 

throws  almost  as  distinct  a  shadow  as  its  base,  and  tl« 
whole  figure  looks  of  a  more  solid  texture,  as  if  yov 
could  feel  it  with  your  hand.  More  beautiful  than  eithei 
is  the  fine  image  of  this  baby  hemlock:  each  delicate 
leaf  droops  above  as  delicate  a  copy,  and  here  and  there 
the  shadow  and  the  substance  kiss  and  frolic  with  each 
other  in  the  downy  snow. 

The  larger  larches  have  a  different  plaything :  on  the 
bare  branches,  thickly  studded  with  buds,  ch'ng  airily  the 
small,  light  cones  of  last  year's  growth,  each  crowned  with 
a  little  ball  of  soft  snow,  four  times  taller  than  itself,  — 
save  where  some  have  drooped  sideways,  so  that  each 
carries,  poor  weary  Atlas,  a  sphere  upon  its  back.  Thus 
the  coy  creatures  play  cup  and  ball,  and  one  has  lost  its 
plaything  yonder,  as  the  branch  slightly  stirs,  and  the 
whole  vanishes  in  a  whirl  of  snow.  Meanwhile  a  frag- 
ment of  low  arbor-vitse  hedge,  poor  outpost  of  a  neighbor- 
ing plantation,  is  so  covered  and  packed  with  solid  drift, 
inside  and  out,  that  it  seems  as  if  no  power  of  sunshine 
could  ever  steal  in  among  its  twigs  and  disentangle  it. 

In  winter  each  separate  object  interests  us  ;  in  summer, 
the  mass.  Natural  beauty  in  winter  is  a  poor  man's  lux- 
ury, infinitely  enhanced  in  quality  by  the  diminution  in 
quantity.  Winter,  with  fewer  and  simpler  methods,  yet 
seems  to  give  all  her  works  a  finish  even  more  delicate 
than  that  of  summer,  working,  as  Emerson  says  of  Eng- 
lish agriculture,  with  a  pencil,  instead  of  a  plough.  Or 
rather,  the  ploughshare  is  but  concealed ;  since  a  pithy 
old  English  preacher  has  said  that  "  the  frost  is  God'a 
plough,  which  he  drives  through  every  inch  of  ground 
in  the  world,  opening  each  clod,  and  pulverizing  the 
whole." 

Coming  out  upon  a  high  hillside,  more  exposed  to  the 


SNOW.  347 

direct  fiiiy  of  the  sleet,  we  find  Nature  wearing  a  wilder 
look.  Every  white-birch  clump  around  us  is  bent  di- 
vergingly  to  the  ground,  each  white  form  prostrated  in 
mute  despair  upon  the  whiter  bank.  The  bare,  writhing 
branches  of  yonder  sombre  oak-grove  are  steeped  in 
snow,  and  in  the  misty  air  they  look  so  remote  and  foreign 
that  there  is  not  a  wild  creature  of  the  Norse  mythology 
who  might  not  stalk  from  beneath  their  haunted  branches. 
Buried  races,  Teutons  and  Cimbri,  might  tramp  solemnly 
forth  from  those  weird  arcades.  The  soft  pines  on  this 
nearer  knoll  seem  separated  from  them  by  ages  and  gen- 
erations. On  the  farther  hills  spread  woods  of  smaller 
growth,  like  forests  of  spun  glass,  jewelry  by  the  acre 
provided  for  this  coronation  of  winter. 

We  descend  a  steep  bank,  little  pellets  of  snow  rolling 
hastily  beside  us,  and  leaving  enamelled  furrows  behind. 
Entering  the  sheltered  and  sunny  glade,  we  are  assailed 
by  a  sudden  warmth  whose  languor  is  almost  oppressive. 
Wherever  the  sun  strikes  upon  the  pines  and  hemlocks, 
there  is  a  household  gleam  which  gives  a  more  vivid 
sensation  than  the  diffused  brilliancy  of  summer.  The 
sunbeams  maintain  a  thousand  secondary  fires  in  the 
/eflection  of  light  from  every  tree  and  stalk,  for  the  pres- 
ervation of  animal  life  and  ultimate  melting  of  these  accu- 
mulated drifts.  Around  each  trunk  or  stone  the  snow 
has  melted  and  fallen  back.  It  is  a  singular  fact,  estab- 
lished beyond  doubt  by  science,  that  the  snow  is  abso- 
lutely less  influenced  by  the  direct  rays  of  the  sun  than 
by  these  reflections.  "  If  a  blackened  card  is  placed  upon 
the  snow  or  Ve  in  the  sunshine,  the  frozen  mass  under- 
neath it  will  be  gradually  thawed,  while  that  by  which  it 
is  surrounded,  though  exposed  to  the  full  power  of  solar 
heat,  is  but  little  disturbed.  If,  however,  we  reflect  the 


348  SNOW. 

sun's  rays  from  a  metal  surface,  an  exactly  contrary  re- 
sult takes  place  :  the  uncovered  parts  are  the  first  to  melt, 
and  the  blackened  card  stands  high  above  the  surround 
ing  portion."  Look  round  upon  this  buried  meadow,  and 
you  will  see  emerging  through  the  white  surface  a  thou- 
sand stalks  of  grass,  sedge,  osmunda,  golden-rod,  mullein, 
Saint-John's-wort,  plaintain,  and  eupatorium,  —  an  allied 
army  of  the  sun,  keeping  up  a  perpetual  volley  of  innu- 
merable rays  upon  the  yielding  snow. 

It  is  their  last  dying  service.  We  misplace  our  ten- 
derness in  winter,  and  look  with  pity  upon  the  leafless 
trees.  But  there  is  no  tragedy  in  the  trees  :  each  is  not 
dead,  but  sleepeth ;  and  each  bears  a  future  summer  of 
buds  safe  nestled  on  its  bosom,  as  a  mother  reposes  with 
her  baby  at  her  breast  The  same  security  of  life  per- 
vades every  woody  shrub :  the  alder  and  the  birch  have 
their  catkins  all  ready  for  the  first  day  of  spring,  and  the 
sweet-fern  has  even  now  filled  with  fragrance  its  folded 
blossom.  Winter  is  no  such  solid  bar  between  season 
and  season  as  we  fancy,  but  only  a  slight  check  and  inter- 
ruption :  one  may  at  any  time  produce  these  March  blos- 
soms by  bringing  the  buds  into  the  warm  house  ;  and  the 
petals  of  the  May-flower  sometimes  show  their  pink  and 
white  edges  in  autumn.  But  every  grass-blade  and  flower- 
stalk  is  a  mausoleum  of  vanished  summer,  itself  crumbling 
to  dust,  never  to  rise  again.  Each  child  of  June,  scarce 
distinguishable  in  November  against  the  background  of 
moss  and  rocks  and  bushes,  is  brought  into  final  promi- 
nence in  December  by  the  white  snow  which  imbeds  it. 
The  delicate  flakes  collapse  and  fall  back  around  it,  but 
retain  their  inexorable  hold.  Thus  delicate  is  the  action 
of  Nature,  —  a  finger  of  air,  and  a  grasp  of  iron. 

We  pass  the  old  red  foundry,  banked  in  with  snow  ami 


SNOW.  349 

its  lew  eaves  draped  with  icicles,  and  come  to  the  brook 
which  turns  its  resounding  wheel.  The  musical  motion 
of  the  water  seems  almost  unnatural  amidst  the  general 
stillness :  brooks,  like  men,  must  keep  themselves  warm 
by  exercise.  The  overhanging  rushes  and  alder-sprays, 
weary  of  winter's  sameness,  have  made  for  themselves 
playthings,  —  each  dangling  a  crystal  knob  of  ice,  which 
sways  gently  in  the  water  and  gleams  ruddy  in  the  sun- 
light. As  we  approach  the  foaming  cascade,  the  toys 
become  larger  and  more  glittering,  movable  stalactites, 
which  the  water  tosses  merrily  upon  their  flexible  stems. 
The  torrent  pours  down  beneath  an  enamelled  mask  of 
ice,  wreathed  and  convoluted  like  a  brain,  and  sparkling 
with  gorgeous  glow.  Tremulous  motions  and  glimmer- 
ings go  through  the  translucent  veil,  as  if  it  throbbed  with 
the  throbbing  wave  beneath.  It  holds  in  ite  mazes  stray 
bits  of  color,  —  scarlet  berries,  evergreen  sprigs,  blue 
raspberry-stems,  and  sprays  of  yellow  willow  ;  glittering 
necklaces  and  wreaths  and  tiaras  of  brilliant  ice-work 
cling  and  trail  around  its  edges,  and  no  regal  palace  shines 
with  such  carcanets  of  jewels  as  this  winter  ball-room  of 
the  dancing  drops. 

Above,  the  brook  becomes  a  smooth  black  canal  be- 
tween two  steep  white  banks  ;  and  the  gla=sy  water  seems 
momentarily  stiffening  into  the  solider  blackness  of  ice. 
Here  and  there  thin  films  are  already  formed  over  it,  and 
are  being  constantly  broken  apart  by  the  treacherous  cur- 
_ent ;  a  flake  a  foot  square  is  jerked  away  and  goes  sliding 
beneath  the  slight  transparent  surface  till  it  reappears  be- 
low. The  same  thing,  on  a  larger  scale,  helps  to  form  the 
oiighty  ice-pack  of  the  Northern  seas.  Nothing  except 
ice  is  capable  of  combining,  on  the  largest  scale,  bulk 
wilh  mobility,  and  this  imparts  a  dignity  to  its  motions 


850  SNOW. 

even  on  the  smallest  scale.  I  do  not  believe  that  any- 
thing in  Behring's  Straits  could  impress  me  with  a 
grander  sense  of  desolation  or  of  power,  than  when  in 
boyhood  I  watched  the  ice  break  up  in  the  winding  chan- 
nel of  Charles  River. 

Amidst  so  much  that  seems  like  death,  let  us  turn  and 
study  the  life.  There  is  much  more  to  be  seen  in  winter 
than  most  of  us  have  ever  noticed.  Far  in  the  North 
the  "moose-yard*"  are  crowded  and  trampled,  at  this 
season,  and  the  wolf  and  the  deer  run  noiselessly  a  deadly 
race,  as  I  have  heard  the  hunters  describe,  upon  the  white 
surface  of  the  gleaming  lake.  But  the  pond  beneath  our 
feet  keeps  its  stores  of  life  chiefly  below  its  level  plat- 
form, as  the  bright  fishes  in  the  basket  of  yon  heavy- 
booted  fisherman  can  tell.  Yet  the  scattered  tracks  of 
mink  and  muskrat  beside  the  banks,  of  meadow-mice 
around  the  hay-stacks,  of  squirrels  under  the  trees,  of 
rabbits  and  partridges  in  the  wood,  show  the  warm  lift- 
that  is  beating  unseen,  beneath  fur  or  feathers,  close  be- 
side us.  The  chickadees  are  chattering  merrily  in  the 
upland  grove,  the  blue-jays  scream  in  the  hemlock  glade, 
the  snow-bird  mates  the  snow  with  its  whiteness,  and  the 
robin  contrasts  with  it  his  still  ruddy  breast.  The  weird 
and  impenetrable  crows,  most  talkative  of  bird?  and  most 
uncommunicative,  their  very  food  at  this  season  a  mys- 
tery, are  almost  as  numerous  now  as  in  summer.  They 
always  seem  like  some  race  of  banished  goblins,  doing 
penance  for  some  primeval  and  inscrutable  transgression, 
and  if  any  bird  have  a  history,  it  is  they.  In  the  Spanish 
version  of  the  tradition  of  King  Arthur,  it  is  said  that  he 
fled  from  the  weeping  queens  and  the  island  valley  of 
Avilion  in  the  form  of  a  crow ;  and  hence  it  is  said  in 
"  Don  Quixote  "  that  no  Englishman  will  ever  kill  one. 


SNOW.  351 

The  traces  of  the  insects  in  the  winter  are  propnetic,  — 
from  the  delicate  cocoon  of  some  infinitesimal  feathery 
thing  which  hangs  upon  the  dry,  starry  calyx  of  the  aster, 
to  the  large  brown-paper  parcel  which  hides  in  peasant 
garb  the  costly  beauty  of  some  gorgeous  moth.  But  the 
hints  of  birds  are  retrospective.  In  each  tree  of  this  pas- 
ture, the  very  pasture  where  last  spring  we  looked  for 
nests  and  found  them  not  among  the  deceitful  foliage,  the 
fragile  domiciles  now  stand  revealed.  But  where  are  the 
birds  that  filled  them  ?  Could  the  airy  creatures  nurtured 
in  those  nests  have  left  permanently  traced  upon  the  air 
behind  them  their  own  bright  summer  flight,  the  whole 
atmosphere  would  be  filled  with  interlacing  lines  and 
curves  of  gorgeous  coloring,  the  centre  of  all  being  this 
forsaken  bird's-nest  filled  with  snow. 

Among  the  many  birds  which  winter  here,  and  the 
many  insects  which  are  called  forth  by  a  few  days  of 
thaw,  not  a  few  must  die  of  cold  or  of  fatigue  amid  the 
storms.  Yet  how  few  traces  one  sees  of  this  mortality ! 
Provision  is  made  for  it.  Yonder  a  dead  wasp  has  fallen 
on  the  snow,  and  the  warmth  of  its  body,  or  its  power  of 
reflecting  a  few  small  rays  of  light,  is  melting  its  little 
grave  beneath  it.  With  what  a  cleanly  purity  does 
Nature  strive  to  withdraw  all  unsightly  objects  into  her 
cemetery  !  Their  own  weight  and  lingering  warmth  take 
them  through  air  or  water,  snow  or  ice,  to  the  level  of  the 
earth,  and  there  with  spring  comes  an  army  of  burying- 
insects,  Necrophagi,  in  a  livery  of  red  and  black,  to  dig 
a  grave  beneath  every  one,  and  not  a  sparrow  falleth  to 
the  ground  without  knowledge.  The  tiny  remains  thus 
disappear  from  the  surface,  and  the  dry  leaves  are  soon 
spread  above  these  Children  in  the  "Wood. 

Thus  varied  and  benignant  are  the  aspects  of  winter  or. 


352  SNOW. 

these  sunny  days.  But  it  is  impossible  to  claim  this 
weather  as  the  only  type  of  our  winter  climate.  There 
occasionally  come  days  which,  though  perfectly  still  and 
serene,  suggest  more  terror  than  any  tempest,  —  terrible, 
clear,  glaring  days  of  pitiless  cold,  —  when  the  sun  seems 
powerless  or  only  a  brighter  moon,  when  the  windows 
remain  ground-glass  at  high  noontide,  and  when,  on  going 
out  of  doors,  one  is  dazzled  by  the  brightness,  and  fancies 
for  a  moment  that  it  cannot  be  so  cold  as  has  been  re- 
ported, but  presently  discovers  that  the  severity  is  only 
more  deadly  for  being  so  still.  Exercise  on  such  days 
seems  to  produce  no  warmth ;  one's  limbs  appear  ready 
to  break  on  any  sudden  motion,  like  icy  boughs.  Stage- 
drivers  and  draymen  are  transformed  to  mere  human 
buffaloes  by  their  fur  coats  ;  the  patient  oxen  are  frost- 
covered  ;  the  horse  that  goes  racing  by  waves  a  wreath 
of  steam  from  his  tossing  head.  On  such  days  life 
becomes  a  battle  to  all  householders,  the  ordinary  appa- 
ratus for  defence  is  insufficient,  and  the  price  of  caloric 
is  continual  vigilance.  In  innumerable  armies  the  frost 
besieges  the  portal,  creeps  in  beneath  it  and  above  it,  and 
on  every  latch  and  key-handle  lodges  an  advanced  guard 
of  white  rime.  Leave  the  door  ajar  never  so  slightly, 
and  a  chill  creeps  in  cat-like ;  we  are  conscious  by  the 
warmest  fireside  of  the  near  vicinity  of  cold,  its  fingers 
are  feeling  after  us,  and  even  if  they  do  not  clutch  us,  we 
know  that  they  are  there.  The  sensations  of  such  days 
almost  make  us  associate  their  clearness  and  whiteness 
with  something  malignant  and  evil.  Charles  Lamb  as- 
seits  of  snow,  "  It  glares  too  much  for  an  innocent  color, 
methinks."  Why  does  popular  mythology  associate  the 
infernal  regions  with  a  high  temperature  instead  of  a  low 
one  ?  El  Aishi,  the  Arab  writer,  says  of  the  bleak  wind 


SNOW.  353 

of  the  Desert,  (so  writes  Richardson,  the  African  travel- 
ler,) "  The  north  wind  blows  with  an  intensity  equalling 
the  cold  of  hell ;  language  fails  me  to  describe  its  rigorous 
temperature."  Some  have  thought  that  there  is  a  similar 
allusion  in  the  phrase,  "  weeping  and  gnashing  of  teeth," 
—  the  teeth  chattering  from  frost.  Milton  also  enumerates 
cold  as  one  of  the  torments  of  the  lost,  — 

"  O'er  many  a  frozen,  many  a  fiery  Alp  " ; 

and  one  may  sup  full  of  horrors  on  the  exceedingly  cold 
collation  provided  for  the  next  world  by  the  Norse 
Edda. 

But,  after  all,  there  are  but  few  such  terrific  periods  hi 
our  Massachusetts  winters,  and  the  appointed  exit  from 
their  frigidity  is  usually  through  a  snow-storm.  After 
a  day  of  this  severe  sunshine  there  comes  commonly 
a  darker  day  of  cloud,  still  hard  and  forbidding,  though 
milder  in  promise,  with  a  sky  of  lead,  deepening  near  the 
horizon  into  darker  films  of  iron.  Then,  while  all  the 
nerves  of  the  universe  seem  rigid  and  tense,  the  first 
reluctant  flake  steals  slowly  down,  like  a  tear.  In  a  few 
hours  the  whole  atmosphere  begins  to  relax  once  more, 
and  in  our  astonishing  climate  very  possibly  the  snow 
changes  to  rain  in  twenty-four  hours,  and  a  thaw  sets  in. 
It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that  snow,  which  to  Southern 
races  is  typical  of  cold  and  terror,  brings  associations  of 
warmth  and  shelter  to  the  children  of  the  North. 

Snow,  indeed,  actually  nourishes  animal  life.  It  holds, 
in  its  bosom  numerous  animalcules  :  you  may  have  a  glass 
of  water,  perfectly  free  from  infusoria,  which  yet,  after 
your  dissolving  in  it  a  handful  of  snow,  will  show  itself 
full  of  microscopic  creatures,  shrimp-like  and  swift ;  and 
the  famous  red  snow  of  the  Arctic  regions  is  only  an 
exhibition  of  the  same  property.  It  has  sometimes  been 


354  SNOW. 

fancied  that  persons  buried  under  the  snow  have  received 
sustenance  through  the  pores  of  the  skin,  like  reptiles 
imbedded  in  rock.  Elizabeth  Woodcock  lived  eight  days 
beneath  a  snow-drift,  in  1799,  without  eating  a  morsel ; 
and  a  Swiss  family  were  buried  beneath  an  avalanche,  in 
a  manger,  for  five  months,  in  1755,  with  no  food  but  a 
trifling  store  of  chestnuts  and  a  small  daily  supply  of 
milk  from  a  goat  which  was  buried  with  them.  In  nei- 
ther case  was  there  extreme  suffering  from  cold,  and  it  is 
unquestionable  that  the  interior  of  a  drift  is  far  warmer 
than  the  surface.  On  the  23d  of  December.  1860,  at 
9  P.  M.,  I  was  surprised  to  observe  drops  falling  from  the 
under  side  of  a  heavy  bank  of  snow  at  the  eaves,  at  a 
distance  from  any  chimney,  while  the  mercury  on  the 
same  side  was  only  fifteen  degrees  above  zero,  not  hav- 
ing indeed  risen  above  the  point  of  freezing  during  the 
whole  day. 

Dr.  Kane  pays  ample  tribute  to  these  kindly  proper- 
ties. "  Few  of  us  at  home  can  recognize  the  protecting 
value  of  this  warm  coverlet  of  snow.  No  eider-down  in 
the  cradle  of  an  infant  is  tucked  in  more  kindly  than 
the  sleeping-dress  of  winter  about  this  feeble  flower-life. 
The  first  warm  snows  of  August  and  September,  falling 
on  a  thickly  pleached  carpet  of  grasses,  heath?,  and  wil- 
lows, enshrine  the  flowery  growths  which  nestle  round 
them  in  a  non-conducting  air-chamber ;  and  as  each  suc- 
cessive snow  increases  the  thickness  of  the  cover,  we 
have,  before  the  intense  cold  of  winter  sets  in,  a  light 
cellular  bed  covered  by  drift,  six,  eight,  or  ten  feet  deep, 

in  which  the  phnt  retains  its  vitality I  have  found 

in  midwinter,  in  this  high  latitude  of  78°  50',  the  surface 
so  nearly  moist  as  to  be  friable  to  the  touch  ;  and  upon 
the  ice-floes,  commencing  with  a  surface-temperature  of 


SNOW.  355 

— 30°,  I  found  at  two  feet  deep  a  temperature  of  — 8°, 

at  four  feet  +2°,  and  at  eight  feet  +26° The 

glacier  which  we  became  so  familiar  with  afterwards  at 
Etah  yields  an  uninterrupted  stream  throughout  the  year." 
And  he  afterwards  shows  that  even  the  varying  texture 
and  quality  of  the  snow  deposited  during  the  earlier  and 
later  portions  of  the  Arctic  winter  have  their  special 
adaptations  to  the  welfare  of  the  vegetation  they  protect. 

The  process  of  crystallization  seems  a  microcosm  of 
the  universe.  Radiata,  mollusca,  feathers,  flowers,  ferns, 
mosses,  palms,  pines,  grain-fields,  leaves  of  cedar,  chest- 
nut, elm,  acanthus  :  these  and  multitudes  of  other  objects 
are  figured  on  your  frosty  window  ;  on  sixteen  different 
panes  I  have  counted  sixteen  patterns  strikingly  distinct, 
and  it  appeared  like  a  show-case  for  the  globe.  What  can 
seem  remoter  relatives  than  the  star,  the  star-fish,  the  star- 
flower,  and  the  starry  snow-flake  which  clings  this  moment 
to  your  sleeve  ?  —  yet  some  philosophers  hold  that  one  day 
their  law  of  existence  will  be  found  precisely  the  same. 
The  connection  with  the  primeval  star,  especially,  seems 
far  and  fanciful  enough,  but  there  are  yet  unexplored 
affinities  between  light  and  crystallization  :  some  crystals 
have  a  tendency  to  grow  toward  the  light,  and  others 
develop  electricity  and  give  out  flashes  of  light  during 
their  formation.  Slight  foundations  for  scientific  fancies, 
indeed,  but  slight  is  all  our  knowledge. 

More  than  a  hundred  different  figures  of  snow-flakes, 
all  regular  and  kaleidoscopic,  have  been  drawn  by  Sco-es- 
by,  Lowe,  and  Glaisher,  and  may  be  found  pictured  in  the 
encyclopaedias  and  elsewhere,  ranging  from  the  simplest 
stellar  shapes  to  the  most  complicated  ramifications.  Pro- 
fessor Tyndall,  in  his  delightful, book  on  "  The  Glaciers  of 
the  Alps,"  gives  drawings  of  a  few  of  these  snow -blossoms. 


356  SNOW. 

which  he  watched  falling  for  hours,  the  whole  air  being 
filled  with  them,  and  drifts  of  several  inches  being  accu- 
mulated while  he  watched.  "  Let  us  imagine  the  eye 
gifted  with  microscopic  power  sufficient  to  enable  it  to  see 
the  molecules  which  composed  these  stany  crystals ;  to 
observe  the  solid  nucleus  formed  and  floating  in  the  air ; 
to  see  it  drawing  towards  it  its  allied  atoms,  and  these 
arranging  themselvss  as  if  they  moved  to  music,  and  ended 
with  rendering  that  music  concrete."  Thus  do  the  Alpine 
winds,  like  Orpheus,  build  their  walls  by  harmony. 

In  some  of  these  frost-flowers  the  rare  and  delicate 
blossom  of  our  wild  Mitella  diphytta  is  beautifully  figured. 
Snow-flakes  have  been  also  found  in  the  form  of  regular 
hexagons  and  other  plane  figures,  as  well  as  in  cylinders 
and  spheres.  As  a  general  rule,  the  intenser  the  cold  the 
more  perfect  the  formation,  and  the  most  perfect  speci- 
mens are  Arctic  or  Alpine  in  their  locality.  In  this  cli- 
mate the  snow  seldom  falls  when  the  mercury  is  much 
below  zero ;  but  the  slightest  atmospheric  changes  may 
alter  the  whole  condition  of  the  deposit,  and  decide 
whether  it  shall  sparkle  like  Italian  marble,  or  be  dead- 
white  like  the  statuary  marble  of  Vermont,  —  whether  it 
shall  be  a  fine  powder  which  can  sift  through  wherever 
dust  can,  or  descend  in  large  woolly  masses,  tossed  like 
mouthfuls  to  the  hungry  earth. 

The  most  remarkable  display  of  crystallization  which  I 
have  ever  seen  was  on  the  13th  of  January,  1859.  There 
had  been  three  days  of  unusual  cold,  but  during  the  night 
the  weather  had  moderated,  and  the  mercury  in  the  morn- 
ing stood  at  -j-14°.  About  two  inches  of  snow  had  fallen, 
and  the  trees  appeared  densely  coated  with  it.  It  proved, 
on  examination,  that  every  twig  had  on  the  leeward  side  a 
dense  row  of  miniature  fronds  or  fern-leaves  executed  in 


SNOW  357 

snow,  with  a  sharply  defined  central  nerve,  or  midrib,  and 
perfect  ramification,  tapering  to  a  point,  and  varying  in 
length  from  half  an  inch  to  three  inches.  On  every  post, 
every  rail,  and  the  corners  of  every  building,  the  same 
spectacle  was  seen ;  and  where  the  snow  had  accumulated 
in  deep  drifts,  it  was  still  made  up  of  the  ruins  of  these 
fairy  structures.  The  white,  enamelled  landscape  was 
beautiful,  but  a  close  view  of  the  details  was  far  more  so. 
The  crystallizations  were  somewhat  uniform  in  structure, 
yet  suggested  a  variety  of  natural  objects,  as  feather- 
mosses,  birds'  feathers,  and  the  most  delicate  lace-corals, 
but  the  predominant  analogy  was  with  ferns.  Yet  they 
seemed  to  assume  a  sort  of  fantastic  kindred  with  the 
objects  to  which  they  adhered:  thus,  on  the  leaves  of 
spruce-trees  and  on  delicate  lichens  they  seemed  like 
reduplications  of  the  original  growth,  and  they  made  the 
broad,  flat  leaves  of  the  arbor-vitae  fully  twice  as  wide 
as  before.  But  this  fringe  was  always  on  one  side  only, 
except  when  gathered  upon  dangling  fragments  of  spider's 
web,  or  bits  of  stray  thread :  these  they  entirely  encircled, 
probably  because  these  objects  had  twirled  in  the  light 
wind  while  the  crystals  were  forming.  Singular  disguises 
were  produced  :  a  bit  of  ragged  rope  appeared  a  piece  of 
twisted  lace-work;  a  knot-hole  in  a  board  was  adorned 
with  a  deep  antechamber  of  snowy  wreaths ;  and  the 
frozen  body  of  a  hairy  caterpillar  became  its  own  well- 
plumed  hearse.  The  most  peculiar  circumstance  was  the 
fact  that  single  flakes  never  showed  any  regular  crystalli- 
zation :  the  magic  was  in  the  combination ;  the  under  sides 
of  rails  and  boards  exhibited  it  as  unequivocally  as  the 
upper  sides,  indicating  that  the  phenomenon  was  created 
in  the  lower  atmosphere,  aud  was  more  akin  to  frost  than 
Bnow  ;  and  yet  the  largest  snow-banks  were  composed  of 


358  SNOW. 

nothing  else,  and  seemed  like  heaps  of  blanched  iron- 
filings. 

Interesting  observations  have  been  made  on  the  rela- 
tions between  ice  and  snow.  The  difference  seems  to  lie 
only  in  the  more  or  less  compacted  arrangement  of  the 
frozen  particles.  Water  and  air,  each  being  transparent 
when  separate,  become  opaque  when  intimately  mingled  , 
the  reason  being  that  the  inequalities  of  refraction  break 
up  and  scatter  every  ray  of  light.  Thus,  clouds  cast  & 
shadow ;  so  does  steam ;  so  does  foam  :  and  the  same  ele- 
ments take  a  still  denser  texture  when  combined  as  snow. 
Every  snow-flake  is  permeated  with  minute  airy  cnambers, 
among  which  the  light  is  bewildered  and  lost ;  while  iron* 
perfectly  hard  and  transparent  ice  ereiy  trace  of  air  disap- 
pears, and  the  transmission  of  light  is  unbroken.  Yet  th&x 
same  ice  becomes  white  and  opaque  wnen  pulverized,  iia 
fragments  being  then  intermingled  vith  air  again, — just 
as  colorless  glass  may  be  crushed  into  white  powder.  On 
the  other  hand,  Professor  Tyndall  iias  converted  slao<*  of 
snow  to  ice  by  regular  pressure,  and  has  shown  that  every 
Alpine  glacier  begins  as  a  snow-drift  at  its  summit,  and 
ends  in  a  transparent  ice-cavern  below.  "  The  blue  blocks 
which  span  the  sources  of  the  Aiveiron  were  once  powdery 
snow  upon  the  slopes  of  the  Col  du  Geant." 

The  varied  and  wonderful  shapes  assumed  by  s&ow  and 
ice  have  been  best  portrayed,  porhaps,  by  Dr.  Kune  hi  his 
two  works ;  but  their  resources  of  color  have  been  so  ex- 
plored by  no  one  as  by  this  saaie  favored  Professor  Tyn- 
dall, among  his  Alps,  It  appears  that  the  tints  which  in 
temperate  regions  are  seen  feebly  and  occasionally,  in  hol- 
lows or  angles  of  fresh  drifts,  become  brilliant  and  constant 
above  the  line  of  perpetual  snow,  and  the  higher  the  alti- 
tude the  more  lustrous  the  display.  "When  a  staff  was 


SNOW.  359 

struck  into  the  new-fallen  drift,  the  hollow  seemed  in- 
stantly  to  fill  with  a  soft  blue  liquid,  while  the  snow 
adhering  to  the  staff  took  a  complementary  color  of 
pinkish  yellow,  and  on  moving  it  up  and  down  it  was 
hard  to  resist  the  impression  that  a  pink  flame  was  rising 
and  sinking  in  the  hole.  The  little  natural  furrows  in  the 
drifts  appeared  faintly  blue,  the  ridges  were  gray,  while 
the  parts  most  exposed  to  view  seemed  least  illuminated, 
and  as  if  a  light  brown  dust  had  been  sprinkled  over  them. 
The  fresher  the  snow,  the  more  marked  the  colors,  and  it 
made  no  difference  whether  the  sky  were  cloudless  or 
foggy.  Thus  was  every  white  peak  decked  upon  its  brow 
with  this  tiara  of  ineffable  beauty. 

The  impression  is  very  general  that  the  average  quan 
tity  of  snow  has  greatly  diminished  in  America ;  but  it 
must  be  remembered  that  very  severe  storms  occur  only 
at  considerable  intervals,  and  the  Puritans  did  not  always, 
as  boys  fancy,  step  out  of  the  upper  windows  upon  the 
snow.  In  1717,  the  ground  was  covered  from  ten  to 
twenty  feet,  indeed ;  but  during  January,  1861,  the  snow 
was  six  feet  on  a  level  in  many  parts  of  Maine  and  New 
Hampshire,  and  was  probably  drifted  three  times  that 
depth  in  particular  spots.  The  greatest  storm  recorded 
in  England,  I  believe,  is  that  of  1814,  in  which  for  forty- 
eight  hours  the  snow  fell  so  furiou.-ly  that  drifts  of  sixteen, 
twenty,  and  even  twenty-four  feet  were  recorded  in  vari- 
ous places.  An  inch  an  hour  is  thought  to  be  the  average 
rate  of  deposit,  though  four  inches  are  said  to  have  fallen 
during  the  severe  storm  of  January  3d,  1859.  When 
thus  intensified,  the  "  beautiful  meteor  of  the  snow  "  be- 
gins to  give  a  sensation  of  something  formidable ;  and 
when  the  mercury  suddenly  falls  meanwhile,  and  the  wind 


360  SNOW. 

snow-storm  as  no  summer  thunders  can  rival.  The  brief 
and  singular  tempest  of  February  7th,  1861,  was  a  thing 
to  be  forever  remembered  by  those  who  saw  it,  as  I  did, 
over  a  wide  plain.  The  sky  suddenly  appeared  to  open 
and  let  down  whole  solid  snow-banks  at  once,  which  were 
caught  and  torn  to  pieces  by  the  ravenous  winds,  and  the 
traveller  was  instantaneously  enveloped  in  a  whirling 
mass  far  denser  than  any  fog ;  it  was  a  tornado  with 
snow  stirred  into  it.  Standing  in  the  middle  of  the  road, 
•with  houses  close  on  every  side,  one  could  see  absolutely 
nothing  in  any  direction,  one  could  hear  no  sound  but  the 
storm.  Every  landmark  vanished,  and  it  was  no  more 
possible  to  guess  the  points  of  the  compass  than  in  mid- 
ocean.  It  was  easy  to  conceive  of  being  bewildered  and 
overwhelmed  within  a  rod  of  one's  own  door.  The 
tempest  lasted  only  an  hour ;  but  if  it  had  lasted  a  week, 
we  should  have  had  such  a  storm  as  occurred  on  the 
steppes  of  Kirgheez  in  Siberia,  in  1827,  destroying  two 
hundred  and  eighty  thousand  five  hundred  horses,  thirty 
thousand  four  hundred  cattle,  a  million  sheep,  and  ten 
thousand  camels,  —  or  as  "  the  thirteen  drifty  days,"  in 
1620,  which  killed  nine  tenths  of  all  the  sheep  in  the 
South  of  Scotland.  On  Eskdale  Moor,  out  of  twenty 
thousand  only  forty-five  were  left  alive,  and  the  shepherds 
everywhere  built  up  huge  semicircular  walls  of  the  dead 
creatures,  to  afford  shelter  to  the  living,  till  the  gale 
should  end.  But  the  most  remarkable  narrative  of  a 
snow-storm  which  I  have  ever  seen  was  that  written  by 
James  Hogg,  the  Ettrick  Shepherd,  in  record  of  one 
which  took  place  January  24th,  1790. 

James  Hogg  at  this  time  belonged  to  a  sort  of  literary 
society  of  young  shepherds,  and  had  set  out,  the  day 
previous,  to  walk  twenty  miles  over  the  hills  to  the  placo 


SNOW.  36i 

of  meeting ;  but  so  formidable  was  the  look  of  the  sky 
that  he  felt  anxious  for  his  sheep,  and  finally  turned  back 
again.  There  was  at  that  time  only  a  slight  fall  of  snow, 
in  thin  flakes  which  seemed  uncertain  whether  to  go  up 
or  down  ;  the  hills  were  covered  with  deep  folds  of  frost- 
fog,  and  in  the  valleys  the  same  fog  seemed  dark,  dense, 
and  as  it  were  crushed  together.  An  old  shepherd,  pre- 
dicting a  storm,  bade  him  watch  for  a  sudden  opening 
through  this  fog,  and  expect  a  wind  from  that  quarter ; 
yet  when  he  saw  such  an  opening  suddenly  form  at  mid- 
night, (having  then  reached  his  own  home,)  he  thought  it 
all  a  delusion,  as  the  weather  had  grown  milder  and  a 
thaw  seemed  setting  in.  He  therefore  went  to  bed,  and 
felt  no  more  anxiety  for  his  sheep  ;  yet  he  lay  awake  in 
spite  of  himself,  and  at  two  o'clock  he  heard  the  storm 
begin.  It  smote  the  house  suddenly,  like  a  great  peal 
of  thunder,  —  something  utterly  unlike  any  storm  he  had 
ever  before  heard.  On  his  rising  and  thrusting  his  bare 
arm  through  a  hole  in  the  roof,  it  seemed  precisely  as  if 
he  had  thrust  it  into  a  snow-bank,  so  densely  was  the  air 
filled  with  falling  and  driving  particles.  He  lay  still  for  an 
hour,  while  the  house  rocked  with  the  tempest,  hoping  it 
might  prove  only  a  hurricane ;  but  as  there  was  no  abate- 
ment, he  wakened  his  companion-shepherd,  telling  him 
"  it  was  come  on  such  a  night  or  morning  as  never  blew 
from  the  heavens."  The  other  at  once  arose,  and,  open- 
ing the  door  of  the  shed  where  they  slept,  found  a  drift 
as  high  as  the  farm-house  already  heaped  between  them 
and  its  walls,  a  distance  of  only  fourteen  yards.  He 
floundered  through,  Hogg  soon  following,  and,  finding  all 
the  family  up,  they  agreed  that  they  must  reach  the  sheep 
as  soon  as  possible,  especially  eight  hundred  ews  that 
were  in  one  lot  together,  at  the  farthest  end  of  the  farm 

16 


362  SNOW. 

So,  after  family-prayers  and  breakfast,  four  of  them 
stuffed  their  pockets  with  bread  and  cheese,  sewed  their 
plaids  about  them,  tied  down  their  hats,  and,  taking  each 
his  staff,  set  out  on  their  tremendous  undertaking,  two 
hours  before  day. 

Day  dawned  before  they  got  three  hundred  yards  from 
the  house.  They  could  not  see  each  other,  and  kept 
together  with  the  greatest  difficulty.  They  had  to  make 
paths  with  their  staves,  rolled  themselves  over  drifts 
otherwise  impassable,  and  every  three  or  four  minutes 
had  to  hold  their  heads  down  between  their  knees  to 
recover  breath.  They  went  in  single  file,  taking  the  lead 
by  turns.  The  master  soon  gave  out,  and  was  speechless 
and  semi-conscious  for  more  than  an  hour,  though  he 
afterwards  recovered  and  held  out  with  the  rest.  Two 
of  them  lost  their  head-gear,  and  Hogg  himself  fell  over 
a  high  precipice ;  but  they  reached  the  flock  at  half  past 
ten.  They  found  the  ewes  huddled  together  in  a  dense 
body,  under  ten  feet  of  snow,  —  packed  so  closely,  that, 
to  the  amazement  of  the  shepherds,  when  they  had  extri- 
cated the  first,  the  whole  flock  walked  out  one  after  an- 
other, in  a  body,  through  the  hole. 

How  they  got  them  home  it  is  almost  impossible  to  tell. 
It  was  now  noon,  and  they  sometimes  could  see  through 
the  storm  for  twenty  yards,  but  they  had  only  one  momen- 
tary glimpse  of  the  hills  through  all  that  terrible  day. 
Yet  Hogg  persisted  in  going  by  himself  afterwards  to 
rescue  some  flocks  of  his  own,  barely  escaping  with  life 
from  the  expedition  ;  his  eyes  were  sealed  up  with  the 
storm,  and  he  crossed  a  formidable  torrent,  without  know- 
ing it,  on  a  wreath  of  snow.  Two  of  the  others  lost 
themselves  in  a  deep  valley,  and  would  have  perished  but 
for  being  accidentally  heard  by  a  neighboring  shepherd. 


SNOW.  863 

who  guided  them  home,  where  the  female  portion  of  the 
family  had  abandoned  all  hope  of  ever  seeing  them  again. 
The  next  day  was  clear,  with  a  cold  wind,  and  they  set 
forth  again  at  daybreak  to  seek  the  remainder  of  the 
flock.  The  face  of  the  country  was  perfectly  transformed : 
not  a  hill  was  the  same,  not  a  brook  or  lake  could  be  rec- 
ognized. Deep  glens  were  filled  in  with  snow,  covering 
the  very  tops  of  the  trees  ;  and  over  a  hundred  acres  of 
ground,  under  an  average  depth  of  six  or  eight  feet,  they 
were  to  look  for  four  or  five  hundred  sheep.  The 
attempt  would  have  been  hopeless  but  for  a  dog  that 
accompanied  them:  seeing  their  perplexity,  he  began 
snuffing  about,  and  presently  scratching  in  the  snow  at 
a  certain  point,  and  then  looking  round  at  his  master : 
digging  at  this  spot,  they  found  a  sheep  beneath.  And 
so  the  dog  led  them  all  day,  bounding  eagerly  from  one 
place  to  another,  much  faster  than  they  could  dig  the 
creatures  out,  so  that  he  sometimes  had  twenty  or  thirty 
holes  marked  beforehand.  In  this  way,  within  a  week, 
they  got  out  every  sheep  on  the  farm  except  four,  these 
last  being  buried  under  a  mountain  of  snow  fifty  feet 
deep,  on  the  top  of  which  the  dog  had  marked  their  places 
again  and  again.  In  every  case  the  sheep  proved  to  be 
alive  and  warm,  though  half  suffocated ;  on  being  taken 
out,  they  usually  bounded  away  swiftly,  and  then  fell 
helplessly  in  a  few  moments,  overcome  by  the  change 
of  atmosphere ;  some  then  died  almost  instantly,  and 
others  were  carried  home  and  with  difficulty  preserved, 
only  about  sixty  being  lost  in  all.  Marvellous  to  tell, 
the  country-people  unanimously  agreed  afterwards  to 
refer  the  whole  terrific  storm  to  some  secret  incantations 
of  poor  Hogg's  literary  society  aforesaid ;  it  was  gener- 
ally maintained  that  a  club  of  young  dare-devils  had 


364  SNOW. 


the  Fiend  himself  among  them  in  the  likeness  of 
a  black  dog,  the  night  preceding  the  storm,  and  the  young 
students  actually  did  not  dare  to  show  themselves  at  fairs 
or  at  markets  for  a  year  afterwards. 

Snow-scenes  less  exciting,  but  more  wild  and  dreary, 
may  be  found  in  Alexander  Henry's  Travels  with  the 
Indians,  in  the  last  century.  In  the  winter  of  1776,  for 
instance,  they  wandered  for  many  hundred  miles  over  the 
farthest  northwestern  prairies,  where  scarcely  a  white 
man  had  before  trodden.  The  snow  lay  from  four  to  six 
feet  deep.  They  went  on  snow-shoes,  drawing  their 
stores  on  sleds.  The  mercury  was  sometimes  — 32°  ;  no 
fire  could  keep  them  warm  at  night,  and  often  they  had 
no  fire,  being  scarcely  able  to  find  wood  enough  to  melt 
the  snow  for  drink.  They  lay  beneath  buffalo-skins  and 
the  stripped  bark  of  trees  :  a  foot  of  snow  sometimes  fell 
on  them  before  morning.  The  sun  rose  at  half  past  nine 
and  set  at  half  past  two.  "  The  country  was  one  uninter- 
rupted plain,  in  many  parts  of  which  no  wood,  nor  even 
the  smallest  shrub,  was  to  be  seen :  a  frozen  sea,  of  which 
the  little  coppices  were  the  islands.  That  behind  which 
we  had  encamped  the  night  before  soon  sank  in  the  hori- 
zon, and  the  eye  had  nothing  left  save  only  the  sky  and 
snow."  Fancy  them  encamped  by  night,  seeking  shelter 
in  a  scanty  grove  from  a  wild  tempest  of  snow  ;  then  sud- 
denly charged  upon  by  a  herd  of  buffaloes,  thronging  in 
from  all  sides  of  the  wood  to  take  shelter  likewise,  —  the 
dogs  barking,  the  Indians  firing,  and  still  the  bewildered 
beasts  rushing  madly  in,  blinded  by  the  storm,  fearing  the 
guns  within  less  than  the  fury  without,  crashing  through 
the  trees,  trampling  over  the  tents,  and  falling  about  in 
the  deep  and  dreary  snow !  No  other  writer  has  ever 
given  us  the  full  desolation  of  Indian  winter-life.  "Wholo 


SNOW.  365 

families,  Henry  said,  frequently  perished  together  in  such 
storms.  No  wonder  that  the  aboriginal  legends  are  full 
of  "  mighty  Peboan,  the  Winter,"  and  of  Kabibonokka  in 
his  lodge  of  snow-drifts. 

The  interest  inspired  by  these  simple  narratives  sug- 
gests the  reflection,  that  literature,  which  has  thus  far 
portrayed  so  few  aspects  of  external  Nature,  has  described 
almost  nothing  of  winter  beauty.  In  English  books, 
especially,  this  season  is  simply  forlorn  and  disagreeable, 
dark  and  dismal. 

"  And  foul  and  fierce 
All  winter  drives  along  the  darkened  air." 

"  When  dark  December  shrouds  the  transient  day, 
And  stormy  winds  are  howling  in  their  ire, 

Why  com'st  not  thou? 0,  haste  to  pay 

The  cordial  visit  sullen  hours  require !  " 

"  Winter  will  oft  at  eve  resume  the  breeze, 
Chill  the  pale  morn,  and  bid  his  driving  blasts 
Deform  the  day  delightless." 

"  Now  that  the  fields  are  dank  and  ways  are  mire, 
With  whom  you  might  converse,  and  by  the  fire 
Help  waste  the  sullen  day." 

But  our  prevalent  association  with  winter,  in  the  Northern 
United  States,  is  with  something  white  and  dazzling  and 
brilliant ;  and  it  is  time  to  paint  our  own  pictures,  and 
cease  to  borrow  these  gloomy  alien  tints.  One  must  turn 
eagerly  every  season  to  the  few  glimpses  of  American 
winter  aspects  :  to  Emerson's  "  Snow-Storm,"  every  word 
a  sculpture ;  to  the  admirable  storm  in  "  Margaret "  ;  to 
Thoreau's  "  Winter  Walk,"  in  the  "  Dial  "  ;  and  to  Low- 
ell's "  First  Snow-Flake."  These  are  fresh  and  real  pic- 
tures, which  carry  us  back  to  the  Greek  Anthology,  where 
the  herds  come  wandering  down  from  the  wooded  moun- 


866  SNOW. 

tains,  covered  with  snow,  and  to  Homer's  aged  Ulysses, 
his  wise  words  falling  like  the  snows  of  winter. 

Let  me  add  to  this  scanty  gallery  of  snow-pictures  the 
quaint  lore  contained  in  one  of  the  multitudinous  sermons 
of  Increase  Mather,  printed  in  1704,  entitled  "  A  Brief 
Discourse  concerning  the  Prayse  due  to  God  for  His 
Mercy  ir.  giving  Snow  like  Wool."  One  can  fancy  the 
delight  of  the  oppressed  Puritan  boys  in  the  days  of  the 
nineteenthlies,  driven  to  the  place  of  worship  by  the 
tithing-men,  and  cooped  up  on  the  pulpit  and  gallery  stairs 
under  charge  of  the  constables,  at  hearing  for  once  a  dis- 
course which  they  could  understand,  —  snowballing  spirit- 
ualized. This  was  not  one  of  Emerson's  terrible  exam- 
ples, —  "  the  storm  real,  and  the  preacher  only  phenom- 
enal " ;  but  this  setting  of  snow-drifts,  which  in  our 
winters  lends  such  grace  to  every  stern  rock  and  rugged 
tree,  throws  a  charm  even  around  the  grim  theology  of 
the  Mathers.  Three  main  propositions,  seven  subdivisions, 
four  applications,  and  four  uses,  but  the  wreaths  and  the 
gracefulness  are  cast  about  them  all,  —  while  the  wonder- 
ful commonplace-books  of  those  days,  which  held  every- 
thing, had  accumulated  scraps  of  winter  learning  which 
cannot  be  spared  from  these  less  abstruse  pages. 

Beginning  first  at  the  foundation,  the  preacher  must 
prove,  "Prop.  I.  That  the  Snow  is  fitly  resembled  to 
Wool  Snow  like  Wool,  sayes  the  Psalmist  And  not 
only  the  Sacred  Writers,  but  others  make  use  of  this  Com- 
parison. The  Grecians  of  old  were  wont  to  call  the  Snow 
ERIODES  HTJDOR,  Wooly  Water,  or  wet  Wool.  The 
Latin  word  Floccus  signifies  both  a  Lock  of  Wool  and 
a  Flake  of  Snow,  in  that  they  resemble  one  another 
The  aptness  of  the  similitude  appears  in  three  things." 
"  1.  In  respect  of  the  Whiteness  thereof."  "  2.  In  re- 


SNOW.  367 

spect  of  Softness."  "3.  In  respect  of  that  Warming 
Vertue  that  does  attend  the  Snow."  [Here  the  reasoning 
must  not  be  omitted.]  "Wool  is  warm.  We  say,  As 
warm  as  Wool.  Woolen-cloth  has  a  greater  warmth  than 
other  Cloathing  has.  The  wool  on  Sheep  keeps  them 
warm  in  the  Winter  season.  So  when  the  back  of  the 
Ground  is  covered  with  Snow,  it  keeps  it  warm.  Some 
mention  it  as  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  Snow,  that  tho' 
it  is  itself  cold,  yet  it  makes  the  Earth  warm.  But  Natu- 
ralists observe  that  there  is  a  saline  spirit  in  it,  which  ia 
hot,  by  means  whereof  Plants  under  the  Snow  are  kept 
from  freezing.  Ice  under  the  Snow  is  sooner  melted  and 
broken  than  other  Ice.  In  some  Northern  Climates,  the 
wild  barbarous  People  use  to  cover  themselves  over  with 
it  to  keep  them  warm.  When  the  sharp  Air  has  begun 
to  freeze  a  man's  Limbs,  Snow  will  bring  heat  into  them 
again.  If  persons  Eat  much  Snow,  or  drink  immoder- 
ately of  Snow-water,  it  will  burn  their  Bowels  and  make 
them  black.  So  that  it  has  a  warming  vertue  in  it,  and  is 
therefore  fitly  compared  to  Wool." 

Snow  has  many  merits.  "  In  Lapland,  where  there  is 
little  or  no  light  of  the  sun  hi  the  depth  of  Winter,  there 
are  great  Snows  continually  on  the  ground,  and  by  the 
Light  of  that  they  are  able  to  Travel  from  one  place  to 

another At  this  day  in  some  hot  Countreys,  they 

have  their  Snow-cellars,  where  it  is  kept  in  Summer,  and 
if  moderately  used,  is  known  to  be  both  refreshing  and 
healthful.  There  are  also  Medicinal  Vertues  in  the  snow. 
A  late  Learned  Physician  has  found  that  a  Salt  extracted 
out  of  snow  is  a  sovereign  Remedy  against  both  putrid 
and  pestilential  Feavors.  Therefore  Men  should  Praise 
God,  who  giveth  Snow  like  Wool."  But  there  is  an 
account  against  the  snow,  also.  "  Not  only  the  disease 


368  SNOW. 

called  Bulimia,  but  others  more  fatal  have  come  out  of 
the  Snow.  Geographers  give  us  to  understand  that  in 
some  Countries  Vapours  from  the  Snow  have  killed 
multitudes  in  less  than  a  Quarter  of  an  Hour.  Some- 
times both  Men  and  Beasts  have  been  destroyed  thereby. 
Writers  speak  of  no  less  than  Forty  Thousand  men  killed 
by  a  great  Snow  in  one  Day." 

It  gives  a  touching  sense  of  human  sympathy,  to  find 
that  we  may  look  at  Orion  and  the  Pleiades  through  the 
grave  eyes  of  a  Puritan  divine.  "  The  Seven  Stars  are 
the  Summer  Constellation  :  they  bring  on  the  spring  and 
summer ;  and  Orion  is  a  Winter  Constellation,  which  is 
attended  with  snow  and  cold,  as  at  this  Day More- 
over, Late  Philosophers  by  the  help  of  the  Microscope 
have  observed  the  wonderful  Wisdom  of  God  in  the  Fig- 
ure of  the  Snow  ;  each  flake  is  usually  of  a  Stellate  Form, 
and  of  six  Angles  of  exact  equal  length  from  the  Center. 
It  is  like  a  little  Star.  A  great  man  speaks  of  it  with 
admiration,  that  in  a  Body  so  familiar  as  the  Snow  is,  no 
Philosopher  should  for  many  Ages  take  notice  of  a  thing 
so  obvious  as  the  Figure  of  it.  The  learned  Kepler,  who 
lived  in  this  last  Age,  is  acknowledged  to  be  the  first  that 
acquainted  the  world  with  the  Sexangular  Figure  of  the 
Snow." 

Then  come  the  devout  applications.  "  There  is  not  a 
Flake  of  Snow  that  falls  on  the  Ground  without  the  hand 
of  God,  Mat  10.  29.  30.  Not  a  Sparrow  falls  to  the 
Ground,  without  the  Will  of  your  Heavenly  Father,  all 
the  Hairs  of  your  head  are  numbred.  So  the  Great 
God  has  numbred  all  the  Flakes  of  Snow  that  covers 
the  Earth.  Altho'  no  man  can  number  them,  that  God 
that  tells  the  number  of  the  Stars  has  numbred  them  all. 
....  We  often  see  it,  when  the  Ground  is  bare,  if  God 


SNOW.  369 

speaks  the  word,  the  Earth  is  covered  with  snow  in  a  few 
Minutes'  time.  Here  is  the  power  of  the  Great  God.  If 
all  the  Princes  and  Great  Ones  of  the  Earth  should  send 
their  Commands  to  the  Clouds,  not  a  Flake  of  snow  would 
come  from  thence." 

Then  follow  the  "uses,"  at  last,  —  the  little  boys  in  the 
congregation  having  grown  uneasy  long  since,  at  hearing 
so  much  theorizing  about  snow-drifts,  with  so  little  oppor- 
tunity of  personal  practice.  "  Use  I.  If  we  should  Praise 
God  for  His  giving  Snow,  surely  then  we  ought  to  Praise 
Him  for  Spiritual  Blessings  much  more."  "  Use  IL  We 
should  Humble  our  selves  under  the  Hand  of  God,  when 
Snow  in  the  season  of  it  is  witheld  from  us."  "  Use  III. 
Hence  all  Atheists  will  be  left  Eternally  Inexcusable." 
"  Use  IV.  We  should  hence  Learn  to  make  a  Spiritual 
Improvement  of  the  Snow."  And  then  with  a  closing 
volley  of  every  text  which  figures  under  the  head  of 
"  Snow  "  in  the  Concordance,  the  discourse  comes  to  an 
end ;  and  every  liberated  urchin  goes  home  with  his  head 
full  of  devout  fancies  of  building  a  snow-fort,  after  sunset, 
from  which  to  propel  consecrated  missiles  against  imagi- 
nary or  traditional  Pequota. 

And  the  patient  reader,  too  long  snow-bound,  must  be 
liberated  also.  After  the  winters  of  deepest  drifts  the 
spring  often  comes  most  suddenly ;  there  is  little  frost  hi 
the  ground,  and  the  liberated  waters,  free  without  the 
expected  freshet,  are  filtered  into  the  earth,  or  climb  on 
ladders  of  sunbeams  to  the  sky.  The  beautiful  crystals 
all  melt  away,  and  the  places  where  they  lay  are  silently 
made  ready  to  be  submerged  in  new  drifts  of  summer 
ver  ure.  These  also  will  be  transmuted  in  their  turn, 
and  so  the  eternal  cycle  of  the  season  glides  along. 

Near  my  house  there  is  a  garden,  beneath  whose  stately 


370  SNOW. 

sycamores  s  fountain  plays.  Three  sculptured  girls  lift 
forever  upward  a  chalice  which  distils  unceasingly  a  fine 
and  plashing  rain ;  in  summer  the  spray  holds  the  maidens 
in  a  glittering  veil,  but  winter  takes  the  radiant  drops  and 
slowly  builds  them  up  into  a  shroud  of  ice  which  creeps 
gradually  about  the  three  slight  figures  :  the  feet  vanish, 
the  waist  is  encircled,  the  head  is  covered,  the  piteous 
uplifted  arms  disappear,  as  if  each  were  a  Vestal  Virgin 
entombed  alive  for  her  transgression.  They  vanishing 
entirely,  the  fountain  yet  plays  on  unseen  ;  all  winter  the 
pile  of  ice  grows  larger,  glittering  organ-pipes  of  conge- 
lation add  themselves  outside,  and  by  February  a  great 
glacier  is  formed,  at  whose  buried  centre  stand  immov- 
ably the  patient  girls.  Spring  comes  at  last,  the  fated 
prince,  to  free  with  glittering  spear  these  enchanted  beau- 
ties ;  the  waning  glacier,  slowly  receding,  lies  conquered 
before  their  liberated  feet ;  and  still  the  fountain  plays. 
Who  can  despair  before  the  iciest  human  life,  when  its 
unconscious  symbols  are  so  beautiful? 


Cambridge  :  Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  ft  C*. 


YOUNG  FOLKS' 
HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

BY 

THOMAS   WENTWORTH    HIGCINSON. 


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